The Weakness
by alowlypotato
Summary: COMPLETE!...AU, post-AJBAC; Max's loyalty to Zack means bad things for Logan, Original Cindy, and Lydecker, and could mean the end of Eyes Only. M/L slant; c'mon you guys, I love you! I neeeeeeed you! Do not abandon me now, I'm writing at my best...
1. Get a Grip

"Logan..." Original Cindy sighed. "Look, you said it yo'self...sista girl died in your   
arms."  
  
"I know, but...I can't help but have this feeling it's not over yet," Logan insisted, tilting his head back and studying the ceiling. Original Cindy put a hand on his and forced back the impending tears.  
  
"Hey, I want her to be alive, too," she said. "But i' she ain't, she ain't, and   
nothins gonna change that."  
  
He sucked in a deep breath and closed his eyes, trying desperately to make it all go away. He knew what had happened, he'd been there, he'd lived it. But for some strange reason he was having great difficulty making 2 + 2 = 4. Perhaps it was just his need to have her near him that gave him this gnawing hope. Perhaps it was his love for her, the pain of losing her, that was making him run possible scenarios of suvival through his mind over and over again, perhaps this "feeling" of his was completely unfounded and he was just caught in the famous State of Denial. It was there, though, driving him crazy, and he was going to play it out until he absolutely knew for sure.  
  
"We have to consider, though," he began, pulling himself up straight and catching Cindy's eye, "that she went down on Manticore soil. I doubt they'd leave one of their precious X-5's to rot out in the forest, nor would they let them slip away so easily. For all we know, they could have taken her in and patched her back up."  
  
"Or, fools coulda chopped her up for parts," Cindy said so softly it was nearly inaudible, bringing to light the possibilities both desperately feared. Logan swallowed hard.  
  
"Let's just try not to think about that," he whispered, feeling sick to his stomach as images of Max sliced up and devoid of organs began to parade through his mind. He pushed them back and brought to the foreground the memory of their kiss as a means of pacifying himself. That's how he wanted always to remember her, open and happy, not the way she was when she'd "died", in so much pain and despair. He wanted to forget the look she'd had in her eyes but even now it wouldn't go away and his stomach turned again.  
  
"So...now what?" Cindy asked.  
  
"Well...I don't know about you, but...I'm gonna look for her, and if she's alive, I'm gonna find her." Cindy shook her head and breathed another heavy sigh.  
  
"If you wanna be all up chasin some wild hope she's alive, that's fine, but Original Cindy ain't setting herself up for tha disappointment she sure you're gonna find." She began to rise from the table as Logan succumbed to the anger rising within himself.  
  
"Well, that's quite the attitude to have regarding the life of your supposed best friend," he growled, immediately regretting it. He had such a short circuit sometimes...he really needed to work on that before Max came back...IF she came back...  
  
"You saying Original Cindy ain't care 'bout her homegirl?" she cried. "Well, look, I'm hurting as much as you, prolly more, and I wish she wasn't dead but she is! Ain't nobody survive somethin like that, not even a suped-up sista like Max. You goin out tryin to find her ain't gonna bring her back or make things better, it's only gonna make it worse, and Original Cindy not down wit that. Now you have to snap to reality, Logan, and realize what I'm saying or you gonna tear yourself up. I'm out." With that, she stormed from the apartment, leaving Logan feeling alone in every sense of the word.  
  
*******  
  
Max lazily tugged at her restraints and tried to block out the incessant pounding of her heart...no, ZACK'S heart. She cringed at the thought and whimpered softly when she couldn't make it go away. It had been 4 days, 4 painstaking days and she feared insanity. It was like Chinese water torture...being tied down and forced to listen to the beating of her now dead brother's heart. God, he was so stupid! Why would he do something like that?! He knew better than to compromise himself...he knew better, he should have just let her die! The more she thought about it, though, the more she realized that that awful blonde woman was right...he literally loved her more than life. With bitter amusement she chewed over the irony; for all his talk of forsaking "foolish sentimentality" and his insistance that it was all a lie, it was this that had ultimately been his undoing. He had certainly proven that it was, in fact, a weakness...a rotten, horrible shame he'd had to die for her to realize it, though.  
  
For a moment, she almost seriously considered giving up, letting Manticore make her what she was "created to be." But she could never do that to Zack...he'd want her to fight to the death to get out and retain her freedom. Though...he'd also want her to forget Seattle. Forget JamPony. FForget Original Cindy. Forget Logan...how in hell could she ever forget him? If any normal human was perfect...no, it's a lie, it's all a lie. Zack died for feeling that way and if she continued down that path, she'd meet the same fate. If she escaped this place, it meant starting over. Cross the border and never look back.  



	2. High-Rise Surprise

Yeah. I forgot to put the disclaimer and stuff on the first chapter so I'm doing it now. Stop laughing, I'm new to this.  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own the Dark Angel universe, nor any of the characters. They belong to Cameron and Eglee and all those people. So now you can't sue me...well, you can, but you'll lose. :)  
  
Hope you all enjoy Lydecker as a drunkard. And please pay no mind to the slight, er, "convenience" of the situation. I was just starting out and I couldn't think of any other way to do it. Blah at myself.  
  
*******  
  
Lydecker downed another shot and dropped the glass onto the bar. It began to roll down to the other end until the tender scooped it up into his hand and looked with pity on the broken, disheveled man before him.   
  
"I think you've had enough, Mister," the tender said as he ran a cloth along the glossy finish of the bar. Lydecker nodded slightly and let his head fall into his hands. "Female trouble?" the tender pried.  
  
"Yyyou mighth sssay that," Lydecker slurred.  
  
"Ah," the tender laughed. "Don't let 'er get ya too down. She's just some chick, afterall."  
  
"Heh," Lydecker chuckled. "Yyyou...haf nooo idea."  
  
"Whatever you say, man, whatever you say." The tender walked away, then, much to Lydecker's relief. He didn't take kindly to such nosey people, and he wasn't in the mood to talk to anyone, anyway. He needed to be alone to himself and his thoughts...well, more like he needed to escape both of those things. That was why he was drinking himself silly, wasn't it? Oh, and he was so disappointed in himself...after all that mumbo jumbo he'd spewed out at that last AA meeting about will power and self-control, here he was doing the exact thing he'd put his audience down for, relapsing, giving in. He felt like a colossal hypocrite, which definitely didn't offer his mood any benefit, let alone his fading resolve to get up and leave before he drank any more. Where would he head if he left, anyway? Renfro had it out for him, and though he'd managed to lay low on the streets the past couple days, the alcohol had obviously greatly impaired his senses and reaction time. His drunkenness required that he spend the night someplace that was at least partially secure, and if there was any such place, the streets of Seattle at night were definitely the farthest from. Yet...he couldn't stay at the bar all night, not if he wanted to resist drinking any more. He couldn't stay with Krit or Syl...they'd fled Seattle as soon as the van had been dumped, something he probably should have done. God, he'd really been an idiot these last few days, hadn't he? Oh well, not important now, he needed to find a place to crash. Where to go, where to go...hmmm...hey, what about that Logan guy? Yes, Logan...Logan...the myopic wonder. And he lived...where DID he live? Oh, this was a problem...but maybe someone here knew him...or maybe not...but it was worth a shot, wasn't it?   
  
He pulled himself around the bar to a girl who looked to be just as depressed as he was, if that were possible, and tapped her on the shoulder.  
  
"Exxxcussse me," he said. She turned to him and subsequently scowled disapprovingly.   
  
"Yeah?" Original Cindy asked.  
  
"Doo...yyyou happennn to know...annnyone by thhhe namme uhhf Logan? Blawnnde, bluue eyethss, glasssses?" he managed to slur.  
  
Original Cindy stare at him as if he had lobsters crawling out his ears. This was only slightly strange... "What's it ta you?" she grumbled.  
  
"Olld frienduh...needuh placcce to ssstay toonight."  
  
"So, what? Y'up wanna know where homeboy's crib's at?"  
  
Lydecker nodded. "Yyyeah...yyeah..."  
  
Cindy thought this over for a minute, weighing out the possible outcomes of the situation. It was incredibly suspicious, yes, and it could always be another Logan this guy was talking about. But...if this man WAS a friend, there'd be no harm in sending him where he wanted to go, and it might be a bit amusing to hear later on of Logan's reaction to some random drunken guy showing up at his place and demanding to spend the night. She was sort of on the angry side right now when it came to him, anyway. So what the hell?  
  
"Original Cindy ain't trustin this as much as she prolly should..." she began, "...but she gonna tell ya anyway."  
  
"Exxxcellent."  
  
*******  
  
Logan sat gazing out the window, imagining the sound of Max's rope hitting the floor of the foyer, of her coming up behind him, placing a hand on his shoulder, greeting him with a "hey". Instead, he got someone pounding at his door. He sighed heavily, reluctantly pulling himself up and making his way across his apartment to answer the door. To his surprise, he found himself looking down into the face of an extraordinarily drunk Lydecker.  
  
"Logan," Lydecker mumbled. "I...needuh placcce to ssstay." With that, he dropped to the floor, nearly taking Logan with him. Logan leaned back against the doorframe and ran a hand through his hair as he stared down at Lydecker in a mixture of disbelief and annoyance.  
  
"This week just keeps getting better..." 


	3. K.O, You Lose

The door slammed open and Max grimaced at the site of the blonde woman she'd seen and heard very little of but had already learned to hate. She was followed by two doctors and a cart covered in an array of medical instruments. Max tensed instinctively, and the blonde woman reached over to smooth her hair in a motherly fashion, only serving to nauseate and threaten Max even more. This bitch was so phony it was pathetic.  
  
"What are you going to do to me?" Max demanded, trying in vain to pull away from the woman's touch. She smiled that creepy smile which barely concealed the darkness within, a darkness so dense that Max could feel it, like the heaviest of weights pressing down and threatening to crush her. She tried to act like she wasn't afraid, but the increased motion and pressure of the woman's hand quickly revealed that her attempts were futile.  
  
"Relax," the woman said in that soft and yet clearly sinister way she had. "You're lucky you heal so quickly, you know. You're already set to have your stitches removed."  
  
The doctors advanced on her, one holding her head in place, the other securing a mask over her face and preparing to give her anesthetic. Anesthetic for the removal of some stitches? Suspicious...  
  
"If that's all you're going to do, why are you knocking me out?" she asked, trying to make her voice sound as intimidating as possible. The woman laughed and Max cringed.  
  
"Smart girl," the woman cooed. "We wouldn't want you thrashing about and trying to escape during and after the procedure, now would we?"  
  
"Depends on your definition of 'we'," Max scowled.  
  
"Full of lip, too. We'll have to work on that," commented the woman with an oddly unsettling grin. "Anyway, if you must know (you'll find out sooner or later regardless), we'll be moving you to a more...secure location while you're still under. You'll be up and about soon; naturally, we have to keep a closer eye on you. Now," she said, regaining that sickening motherly tone, "...you just relax, and take deep breaths, and let yourself fade away." Max blinked as her eyelids suddenly became extraordinarily heavy, and wished desperately she had the strength to break free. Not so much to escape; what she wanted most right now as to strangle this woman, murder her in cold blood. She wanted it so badly it ached. She'd never exactly been partial to killing, but god, this woman...this awful woman. It wasn't even her evilness that was so upsetting, though that obviously played a part; it was the fact that it was candy-coated, the fact that she was acting so damn sugary-sweet when Max knew without a doubt it was nothing but a cover, and a fairly weak one at that. In her weakened condition and foggy state of mind, though, all she could do was ask a simple question.  
  
"Why are you being so nice about all of this?" The woman grinned and chuckled slightly and backed away, and Max was overcome with a surge of anger and hatred, the intensity of which she never imagined she could feel. Oh, god, Lydecker was a saint compared to this woman...but these thoughts and all others were quickly fading. She grasped for consciousness and fought the chemical as best she could, but eventually gave in and succumbed to the blackness.  



	4. Bust-A-Psyche

He blinked his eyes open and his brow subsequently wrinkled in confusion. He was fully dressed, including his boots, and laying above the covers on a strange bed in a strange room. He sat up in order to better survey his surroundings, but a shooting pain through his temples hampered his efforts, and he brought a hand up to massage his forehead as his head fell back against the pillow. He noticed then that he felt awful; nauseous, groggy, a splitting headache of course, and at first he couldn't figure out why he'd be feeling in such a way, but then the familiarity of his state caught up with him and he groaned at the realization that he was in the throes of one hell of a hangover. The fact that he had no clue where he was didn't help in the least.  
  
Eventually, he'd collected himself enough to sit up on the edge of the bed, and he took in the hardwood floor, twin bedside tables, walk-in closet and lone bureau while his intensified hearing picked up what appeared to be the sounds of someone preparing breakfast. For a brief moment, he tensed at the feared the possibility that the previous night's obvious drinking binge had caused him to allow himself to be pulled into a sort of one-night-stand. He soon realized with a great amount of relief, though, that if this scenario were true he probably wouldn't be dressed, or above the covers. So where was he, then? It couldn't be a friend's place...he didn't have any friends, only the occasional ally. He couldn't have been captured...Renfro wouldn't treat him this well. He sighed and rubbed his forehead, but nothing came up. Ah, well...seemed he'd have to do a little exploring to figure this one out.  
  
He slowly walked to the door of the room, shaking his head and widening his eyes to try to get back into himself. He hadn't drunken like this in so long...he'd forgotten how awful the morning after could be. He braced himself against the doorframe as another wave of pain shot through his head. Oh, this was going to be a long day.  
  
He pressed himself against the wall as he made his way down the corridor, both as a cautionary measure in case his host was foe (though he strongly doubted it) and as a means of steadying himself. He paused in the entranceway to the main room, which was presently flooded with early morning sun from the large windows typical of the city's high-rise apartments, and whose furnishings, though sparse, definitely spoke of one of great privilege. He walked out into the open, momentarily forgetting to exercise caution and jumped through the roof at the voice that greeted him.  
  
"So you're finally up," Logan commented as he made his way about the kitchen. He chuckled slightly at Lydecker's reaction to his observation. "A little jumpy, are we?" Lydecker nodded slowly as confusion pounded his skull once again. Logan? What was he doing with Logan?  
  
"This is probably going to sound strange," Lydecker began, "but...what exactly am I doing here?"  
  
"You don't remember?" Logan asked, amused. Lydecker, of course, shook his head in response. "Well," Logan said, clicking his tongue, "you showed up late last night drunk off your ass, collapsed in my doorway, and I dragged you into the guest room. You're lucky; for a moment I was considering tossing you in the elevator and sending you back down to the lobby, but I just couldn't bring myself to be so cruel. Besides, I didn't want to miss the opportunity to accommodate someone of your stature." Lydecker cringed at the bitterness in the man's voice as images of last night flooded his memory. The bar, the girl, his arrival at the apartment and then blackness. He mentally kicked himself for putting himself in such a compromising situation and wandered forward a few more steps.  
  
"Yes...yes, now I remember."  
  
"Great," Logan said flatly. "Have a seat." He gestured to the couch and Lydecker gladly took the invitation, thankful for the opportunity to get off his feet. "How do you like your eggs?" Logan inquired. He didn't get the answer he wanted.  
  
"You still haven't forgiven me, have you?"  
  
Logan put on his most sarcastic, arrogant grin and replied, "No, I guess I haven't, and I don't think any of them have either, nor will any of us ever be able to...not completely, at least."  
  
Lydecker sighed heavily and covered his face in his hands. "I explained everything, didn't I?"  
  
"Oh, you mean about your dream, your little vision?" Logan's voice was dripping with bitter sarcasm and it was driving Lydecker crazy. "Personally, hearing that has only led me to believe that you're even more messed up than I'd previously thought."  
  
"You don't get it," Lydecker grumbled. "You can't even possibly begin to understand."  
  
"Maybe not, but I've tried. Believe me, I have tried," Logan insisted. "And maybe this is just my liberal pacifistic side talking, but trying to create the perfect killing machine just doesn't seem like the most productive and beneficial thing you could be doing for society."  
  
Lydecker chuckled. "You haven't tried hard enough. Just imagine all the lives that would be saved, all the money we wouldn't have to waste if we had an army of my kids serving and protecting the country. Think of how fearful our enemies would become of us. Imagine how many we could make...enough that we'd have the whole world so afraid that they wouldn't even dare to think of launching war. Militaristic domination...and ultimately the end of war alto..."  
  
"Oh, c'mon, Lydecker!" Logan interrupted, slamming his fist into the counter. "You of all people should know better than that. The world wouldn't just sit back and quiver, they'd begin developing even more advanced soldiers. I mean...you can't just create some spectacular weapon or train some amazing soldier and expect war to go away. In the beginning of the 20th century, industrialization had brought about all these incredible weapons; machine guns, mortars, flame-throwers, you name it. And you know what everyone thought? They thought that we'd never fight again because no one would be stupid enough to go up against those weapons. Instead, World War I happened and an entire generation was killed. A few decades later, they thought the exact same thing; we'll never fight again, our weaponry is too advanced, no one is stupid enough to make that same mistake. What happened? World War II and us big, clever Americans unleashed leukemia on the planet. People still think like that, they still think that, since nuclear weaponry is in the hands of most every power around the globe, we're not stupid enough to fight, we're not stupid enough to blow up the planet. But ya know something? We are. As much as I hate to admit to it, for the most part, we're a stupid, hostile race, Lydecker, and when it comes to stupid, hostile races, better weapons and soldiers don't end war, they only make it worse." He let silence take over then, watching Lydecker's face as all that had been said began to sink in. He had a feeling he'd delivered quite a psychological blow and was immensely pleased with himself for it. He drew the quiet out a few seconds more, then asked, "Now, for the second time, how do you like your eggs?"  



	5. Cheese/Irish Eyes are Smiling

You might have a problem with the first part of this.  
  
I say that because I, myself, have a problem with it. But I'm computer illiterate and can't think of any other way. Also, people have told me that it works, and that it's possible. But that's not enough, you see, because I'm very insecure and therefore still worry that it's ALL HORRIBLY WRONG!!!!  
  
So yeah. Feel free to yell "THAT'S ALL HORRIBLY WRONG!" at me. Constructive criticism always kicks bootah, anyway.  
  
*******  
  
  
  
"We've deleted his files from the mainframe and changed all the passwords, just as you asked, Madame. We've also erected 5 firewalls, laced with redirection and blind links."  
  
"Excellent," Renfro commented. She stood pondering for a moment, glad that Manticore's database was now well protected from the likes of Lydecker but still edgy and unsatisfied. A grin crossed her lips as the idea materialized.  
  
"Was...there something else you wanted?" the technician asked warily.  
  
"Yes, as a matter of fact," she answered. "I want you to create somewhat of a...false database, if you know what I mean. Use the old domain, codes, and passwords and make it look as similar to the original as possible."  
  
"Madame, with all due respect, I don't see what possibly could be gained from..."  
  
"Just do it!" Renfro snapped. She shook her head and rolled her eyes as the technician shuddered and went fast to work, acting as the coward he was. "Weak-minded fool," she mumbled under her breath. She hovered over his shoulder as he worked, scrutinizing every detail and making sure it was hard even for herself to tell the difference between the two systems. Excellent work this man did; shame he was such a wimp.  
  
"That should do it," he muttered as he put on the finishing touches.  
  
"Well done," said she as she thought of the highly unprofessional favoritism Lydecker had shown. "One more thing, though...make it so that we'll immediately know when someone enters this system, and also make sure information on prototype X5-452 is as quick and easy to find as possible without it being too blatantly obvious."  
  
"All right," the technician mouthed as his fingers flew across the keyboard. "Um...if you don't mind me asking, Madame, what is the purpose of all of this?"  
  
Renfro smiled grimly. "The trap is set...now we just have to sit back and wait for the rat."  
  
*******  
  
Another morning in Logan Cale's apartment. Another day of dealing with barely concealed resentment and the truths he still wasn't ready to accept.  
  
After Logan's painfully effective speech the previous morning, Lydecker had remained mostly silent and immobile for the remainder of the day, save for the occasional runs to the bathroom to make love to the toilet. Logan hadn't exactly been thrilled, but at the same time it made things a bit easier for him. He still didn't trust Lydecker, naturally, and with him out of commission both physically and mentally it was far less difficult to keep a close eye on him.  
  
Presently, though, Lydecker was arising ahead of his host and wasn't too intent on keeping in bed. His stomach, which had finally ceased its churning, was getting the best of him and he figured it wouldn't be too big of a deal to find some food and make himself a breakfast. He wandered about the kitchen, haphazardly putting together a sandwich - a SANDWICH, of all things, at THIS hour - as he tried to block the words from his mind. 'Better weapons and soldiers don't end war, they only make it worse.' They'd been bothering him since they'd left Logan's mouth, tearing at his brain and fighting for space in the realm of Truth despite his persistent denial of being wrong. But...what if he WAS wrong? What if he'd been wrong about everything all along? That's some heavy stuff...too heavy to deal with at this juncture in his life. Right now he needed to focus all of his emotional strength on getting over Renfro's betrayal and the loss of Max. Zack, as well. His two best and brightest...his favorites, gone. He felt himself starting to cry but pushed it back. Tears are not weapons...they solve nothing, win no battles, bring no one back. God...he needed a drink. NO! There would not be a repeat of the other night. He must be strong. Will power. Resistance. He looked down at his sandwich and focused on how hungry he was until he was able to move over to the couch in the main room and begin eating.  
  
He couldn't figure out why he hadn't noticed the fancy computers and cameras before. He'd probably been too wrapped up in his hangover and Logan's stark picture of reality. A familiar curiosity was now welling up inside of him, though, and he advanced on the equipment to get a closer look. State-of-the-art computer technology...which made sense, considering the hacking abilities Logan had demonstrated on the battlefield. But that didn't explain the cameras. What use could Logan have of them? Would could he possibly...  
  
Oh my god.  
  
The pieces fell into place faster than his mind could process them. Logan was a computer whiz and expert hacker...so was Eyes Only. Logan had the means to make television broadcasts...so, obviously, did Eyes Only. Logan knew about the Manticore project and cared about the well being of its subjects...so did Eyes Only. Logan obviously had feelings for Max...so did Eyes Only. And, most importantly, Logan hadn't covered his tracks very well, and now two piercing, pixilated blue eyes had a face to belong to.  
  
Logan and Eyes Only were not separate.  
  
They were the same person.   



	6. Perfect

Anesthesia has a habit of making one groggy upon their awake. It also has a habit of giving one strange dreams, oftentimes nightmares. Of course, it could simply have been the fact that Max was prone to them, anyway.  
  
There was a lot of darkness and a lot of running and a lot of gunfire. Everything blurred together, her vision wouldn't work right for some reason, and the flashes were coming faster than she could make sense of them. The night Lydecker had come to her in the barracks, told her she was special...special, she and Zack. They were special. Each had something to offer, but she and Zack. If they didn't matter, no one did.  
  
Perfect.  
  
Over and over the word came.  
  
Perfect.  
  
You, Max. You're perfect.  
  
Her vision returned and she giggled. Giggled? How odd...  
  
You can see better. You can run faster. You're better than them, you and Zack.  
  
Zack! Oh Zack...and then there he was, right alongside her. Not dead...alive, running with her. He grinned and she grinned and they ran together, like they were racing. This was a game. Non-competitive, just for fun, because they were the best and they deserved time to play.  
  
You two are everything I could ever have hoped for.  
  
Flash to Manticore...escape and evade, their favorite game. They'd always been the best at it, hadn't they?  
  
Perfect.  
  
Back to now, to running, excitement. Together again. The best Manticore had to offer.  
  
The epitome of genetic perfection. That's what you are, Max. You and Zack. Shame it's going to waste.  
  
Stop! To waste? Who's going to waste? Not us...we're the best...we can do no wrong...  
  
And then the water was cold, so very cold. She didn't know where it had come from, but suddenly there it was, all around her, and already she desperately needed air. She kicked for the surface but it was to no avail; as in training, she was tied to the floor, and there was Zack beside her, trying as she was to escape. A sharp pain through her chest told her time was running out and she would have screamed if she weren't underwater. She looked up, finding the familiar platform and expecting to see Lydecker but instead finding the cackling face of the wretched blonde woman, who looked to her left and waved her arm in presentation. Max followed the gesture, gasping a mouthful of water at the sight of the gallows where Lydecker and Logan stood, hands tied behind their backs and nooses hanging loosely about their necks.  
  
Perfect.  
  
She kicked harder, with all her might but the restraints held her and she couldn't figure out why. They shouldn't, she was stronger, stronger than this. She was the best. It wasn't so hard so why couldn't she break free? All was red and then all was calm and dry and she embraced Zack, who looked down at her sadly and shook his head. Her brow furrowed in confusion and then she remembered Lydecker and Logan, whence she looked over her shoulder to spy them both still at the gallows, this time separated from her by a plexiglass wall.  
  
PERFECT, Max!  
  
She ran at it, banging her fists against it without causing it to so much as rattle. Then came his accusing voice...why, Max, why? Why are you letting this happen? I thought you cared, I thought maybe we had something, why won't you help?  
  
"I'm trying, Logan!" she cried but her voice failed her and all that left her lips was silence. The tears came then, the wracking sobs, and his voice persisted...why, Max?  
  
Yes, Max. Why? You're perfect. PERFECT. Why aren't you acting that way, why aren't you acting how you were made? How can someone who's perfect allow this to happen? P-E-R...  
  
"I haven't done anything! It's not my fault!"  
  
...F-E-C-T! Perfect!  
  
Then there was no sound, no wall, nothing but Lydecker pushing Logan to his death and then jumping to his own. There was one scream, from deep within her, and then there was reality.  
  
She banged her head against the cold, hard wall behind her and clenched her eyes tightly shut as she tried to catch her breath. Across the insides of her eyelids were remnants of the dream, though, so she blinked them open again and began to take in her surroundings. There wasn't much to see...the room was small, dark, cold and barren, in traditional Manticore fashion. The only object in the room besides herself was a camera in the corner of the ceiling, unless you counted the steel door with the small window at the top. She attempted to bring her arms up to wipe the sweat from her face only to find that they were chained rather tightly to the wall.  
  
"Wonderful," she spat. "Wake from one nightmare to live in another." Not that the fact she was in such confinement surprised her; she'd expected the blonde woman (whose name she still had not picked up) not to take any chances. But this was definitely an occasion she wished she'd been wrong. She couldn't handle such secure imprisonment, and, in spite of herself, she actually began to look forward to the intense training she was certain she'd soon receive. At least then she'd be able to move about.  
  
In the meantime, she set to work occupying herself with daydreams of escape. Fresh air, sunlight, freedom...freedom she'd cherish with her life, that she'd never let herself compromise ever again. She'd go to Canada, change her name perhaps, live the way Zack wanted to...with Logan, of course.  
  
//ARGH! No, forget him!// she chastised herself. But she couldn't. She couldn't imagine living in Canada without him and when she tried to, the vision of him hanging popped up. Soon, that was all she could think about; that, the repetition of "perfect" and Zack's sad, shaking face. The most awful feeling overtook her...much like the one that had struck her the last time she'd fled to Canada, like something was horribly wrong. The notion of premonition, destiny, two choices equally dangerous but one more disastrous than the other entered her mind. Right and wrong, Zack and Logan, death and survival. A path to each, perhaps to both. Friends, family, leadership, sentimentality, weakness, cowardice, strength, courage, love, hate, anger, trepidation, strategy, advantage, war, flight, battle...words fighting for superiority among her thoughts and leaving her both confused and shaking with the most intense and powerful intuitive despair she'd ever felt.  
  
Perfect.  
  
"Must be the anesthesia," she whispered bitterly to herself.  



	7. Breaking the Hacker

"What do you think you're doing?"  
  
Lydecker was blown from his state of inner excitement and jubilation as his head flew up to meet the angry face of the infamous Eyes Only. He couldn't believe it...couldn't fathom how close he was to the man he'd wanted caught and finished for months now. He felt like a giddy schoolboy and wanted to shout his knowledge to the world, but he knew better than that. He had to be cool, play his cards right. If he went about this the right way, he could get Logan to confess, admit who he really was.  
  
"I'm just admiring your equipment here," he answered smoothly, running a hand over the top of one of the monitors. Logan's eyebrow raised in suspicion.  
  
"Well, I'd appreciate it if you kept away," he muttered after a few moments of apprehensive silence. Lydecker raised his arms defensively and backed off, as if to say "hey, I wasn't gonna do anything, but whatever." He made his way back to the couch and returned to eating his sandwich, all the while keeping steady eye contact with his host. Logan shifted uneasily under the gaze, much to Lydecker's delight, and finally couldn't take it and moved quickly into the kitchen.  
  
"I'd also appreciate it if you didn't snoop around my kitchen," he said, acknowledging the sandwich. "If you're that hungry, I'd rather you wake me then try to make something yourself."  
  
Lydecker grinned. It was all far too perfect. "Why, you haven't got anything to hide, have you Logan?"  
  
Logan stopped dead what he was doing and lifted his head to nervously study the wall. He didn't like the way this conversation was going; Lydecker was up to something, and for perhaps the millionth time in the past 33 hours Logan cursed his own kindness and wished he'd had the guts to toss out his little uninvited guest.  
  
"And what in the world do you mean by that?" Logan spat a little too defensively. Lydecker could hear the edge, the fear in his voice and grinned inwardly. Things were progressing nicely; this man was untrained, undisciplined and strikingly easy to break. Curious, considering his profession, but oh well. It might have been much too soon for another, but Lydecker sensed quick and easy victory and decided to go for the throat.  
  
"You don't seem cautious and secure enough to be a hacker of...your prominence."  
  
//Somebody shoot me,// Logan thought to himself as the realization sent his adrenal glands pumping overtime. It took his all not to let the carton of milk slip from his hands, and suddenly he didn't feel like wasting the rare and expensive substance. He shakily returned it to the fridge as he struggled not to telecast his fear. Lydecker had figured it al out. He'd done the math, put it together, discovered the truth and now Logan felt like a bumbling, oblivious idiot wandering into a minefield. Why did it seem he'd been cursed with such bad luck recently?  
  
"You might as well spit it out," he said. He turned to lean against the counter, folding his arms across his chest and setting his features into the usual angry scowl to cover his true emotions. "I may have made some stupid mistakes, but I'm still smart enough to know exactly what you're getting at."  
  
Lydecker's grin doubled in size. "Well, if you're such the detective, what AM I getting at?"  
  
"Don't try to trick me," Logan chuckled bitterly as he turned to face the wall again.  
  
"I have no reason to trick you," Lydecker assured him. "I already know for certain all that I need to." This was just too easy...he couldn't usually be like this; he'd done so well keeping his identity secret all these years. The grief of Max's death must really be affecting him...  
  
Logan's fear and rising anger got the better of him at that moment. "If you already know I'm Eyes Only then..." His jaw dropped, his eyes widened, and his mind screamed. //Oh god, Cale, what did you just do?! You fool! You idiot! Of all the times to lose your nerve...//  
  
The grin broke into a full-fledged smile, a rarity for Lydecker. "And now it's confirmed." He happily popped the last of his sandwich into his mouth while Logan's face fell into his hands.  
  
//All these years, Cale...you've been so careful, covered yourself so well...why now? Why...HIM? Erg...Max would be so disappointed...//  
  
"It's really not so bad," said Lydecker. "It's not like I'm your foe any longer. We're on the same side. I could help you, you could help me."  
  
Logan removed his glasses and pressed his hands against his face, pulling them down to rest alongside his jawline. He set to work fast to get his mind operating coherently again, to retrieve the sanity he'd apparently lost moments ago. "It won't surprise you to know I can barely tolerate you...I'll never be able to trust you..." He sighed heavily. "How could we ever..."  
  
"I'm not asking to be your friend, Logan," Lydecker interrupted. "Just your ally."  
  
"That's laughable."  
  
"Why?" he asked. "There's a lot I have to offer your cause. My military experience and knowledge, my involvement in some of the biggest conspiracies and cover-ups...combine that with your obvious skill, and there's not much we couldn't accomplish. Why do you say?"  
  
Logan struggled to find an answer. If ever one was caught between a rock and a hard place, it was he at this very moment. This could be a massive set-up or a sincere attempt to get on his good side. If it were the former, it didn't matter whether or not he agreed...he'd find himself on the wrong end of a plot to put him out of business either way. But if it were the latter, Lydecker WOULD be a powerful informant, one who'd happen to know more about Manticore than anyone and who would thus be invaluable in finding out if Max was really dead. Oh god... He sighed again and decided to avoid the question a little longer.  
  
"Alliances are easily broken," he pointed out. Desperate attempt to get out of it. No luck.  
  
"All the more reason for you to jump at the offer while it's pending. So what if we break ties someday? You'd have gotten far more than your effort's worth by then, I promise you."  
  
He clenched his eyes shut and ignored the guilt and the reason. //You're gonna hate yourself for this...//  
  
"All right," Logan finally agreed. "You and me. Allies."  
  
Colonel Donald Lydecker beamed with the satisfaction of victory while the great and powerful Eyes Only braced himself against his kitchen counter and tried not to puke.  



	8. A Friend in Need

A/N: Ahhh, the games are beginning. Oh yes. Oooooh yes.  
*******  
  
  
She kept her eyes glued to the wall across from her as indifference and despondency were the only means she could think of to show defiance at the moment. The blonde woman had entered the cell a few moments earlier, followed by Brin and a few random soldiers. Brin held her in place as one of the soldiers released her from her current restraints only to quickly handcuff her seconds later. By the door stood the blonde woman, overlooking the present proceedings, patient and satisfied. Max felt the distaste and anger rising within herself but did quite the job of concealing it; her chance could be approaching, so for the time being she must keep all emotions and impulses in check.  
  
She was roughly yanked to her feet by her elder sister, then pushed out the door and through the maze of hallways which brought back far too many painful memories. Each of her upper arms were held by soldiers, her wrists were secured not only by the handcuffs but also by Brin's tight, relentless grip, and Ms. Bitch was leading the way, mumbling something about a sparring match. Meanwhile, Max took in and processed her surroundings (some familiar, others not), filing away every random door and vent that was passed. Operating room, medical storage, janitor's closet...all could come in good use. She also brought up an image of the map they'd consulted the night of the attack, and began inwardly devising a route of escape as she and Brin entered a room with an intercom and two-way mirror along the right wall.  
  
*******  
  
"I am NOT in denial," Logan insisted, although he himself was beginning to have trouble believing it. "I just want to make certain."  
  
"We both witnessed her death, Logan," Lydecker said as softly as he could manage. "I know it's hard, and I understand. If you think I'm not grieving, you're wrong, and on top of that, I've got to deal with the fact that you've managed to blow my entire outlook on life. But the thing is, I've accepted it. I'm working toward moving on and that's precisely what you've got to do. Like I said at the scene, you have got to let her go."  
  
Logan sighed and rubbed his eyes...the man had a point. But the feeling persisted, the feeling that it wasn't over, that the tale was really just beginning. God, this was like the incident with Original Cindy all over again. Talk about your rotten déjà vu...  
  
"All right, look," Logan snapped. "We're allies, right? You scratch my back, I scratch yours?"  
  
"Yes..."  
  
"So help me, dammit!" Lydecker was taken slightly aback by the outburst. Sure, Logan was a fairly angry and sarcastic individual, but this was a whole other story. "You don't have to believe she's alive to do that!"  
  
"Fine," he finally agreed. "What is it you want me to do?"  
  
Logan exhaled heavily in relief and turned to his computer. "Help me break into the Manticore mainframe."  
  
Lydecker's face fell into his hands. Logan didn't get it, he just didn't get it. He was smart on the whole and he had his gifts, but presently none of that was coming into play. What he needed was the kind of reality check he'd delivered himself the other day.  
  
"It's not nearly so easy as you like to make it sound," Lydecker began. "You probably think we can just type in my passwords and infiltrate the system without incident, but go a little further with that. Look beyond the surface. Do you honestly expect them not to have changed everything around?"  
  
Replied Logan, "I realize that's a great possibility, that the odds are against us. But it's worth a go, isn't it? If it doesn't work, I've got plenty of informants and fellow hackers who'll be more than willing to help get us in...that obviously, would just take a lot longer and be a great deal more difficult. C'mon, Colonel. What harm could it do?"  
  
*******  
  
Max's handcuffs were discarded, the keys both to them and the door secured in Brin's back pocket...apparently in case the blonde woman was called away. It was instructed that they fight, and at first Max planned on keeping defiant and ignoring all attack, but then she remembered that the more it appeared they were "breaking" her, the more freedom she would attain, so she fought back. She even managed to throw a complimentary fake smile in there, which, strangely enough, quickly became genuine.  
  
In the conference room on the other side of the two-way mirror, Renfro stood slowly chewing the wad of gum she'd recently popped into her mouth as she crossed her arms and tilted her head up arrogantly. She was delighted with X5-452's behavior and progress; the girl was wonderfully cooperative, far more so than the other, and it was naturally easier to deal with one insubordinate rather than two. Things were going better than had initially been planned, she hoped well enough for Wye. He was not at all happy with how Renfro had been handling things, and she knew he wanted her out. He always had, the chauvinist ass. Well, she'd move beyond him yet. She'd beef up the security like he'd requested so often (even she admitted it was needed), restock the DNA lab, reunite all of the remaining X-5s and then maybe, just maybe, if she were bored enough someday, she'd have him terminated. She'd certainly have the means to do it with the combined forces of the X-5s and X-7s.  
  
Her cell began beeping, so she flicked off the intercom and turned her back on the sparring siblings.   
  
"Renfro," she answered.  
  
"Uh, yes. Madame, this is Lars Haskell. I'm a computer technician, you had me fix up the mainframe and configure a false database the other day," came the response.  
  
"Yes, go on."   
  
"Well...someone's entered the system." 


	9. Dead or Alive

"How is this possible?" Lydecker whispered, more to himself than to Logan, whose shoulder he was presently leaning over.  
  
"All that matters is that, apparently, it is," Logan commented, deftly navigating the system.  
  
Lydecker took in a deep breath and shook his head. "All right...Max's number is X5-452. Renfro doesn't like to use their names; she doesn't think of them as human beings, and she doesn't like them to think of themselves that way, either. So the status of the number is what you should search for."  
  
Logan could feel and hear Lydecker's worry, and supposed that he should also have his suspicions, but he was far too excited at the moment for anything of that nature. Adding to his giddiness was the fact that X5-452's status was not "deceased", but "undergoing reprogramming."  
  
"Ha! I was RIGHT!" he exclaimed, bouncing in his seat. Lydecker, though slightly more hopeful than he'd previously been, was not so optimistic. It had all been a little too easy for his liking.  
  
"I've got a bad feeling about this."  
  
"Surprise surprise," said Logan wryly.  
  
"It could very well be a trap," Lydecker pointed out. "I think you should log off."  
  
Logan, knowing deep down that his companion was right, shut the computer off and leaned back into his chair, jittery and eager to make good on what they'd just discovered. The familiarity of the situation suddenly struck him...all those times he'd been against Max going on a rescue mission, insisting that it could be trap. Now he understood perfectly why she'd never listened to him.  
  
"So what do you suggest we do?" he asked after a few moments of silence.  
  
"Well," Lydecker began, "if this information is nothing more than bait, they'll obviously be expecting an attack. They've probably heightened security and are on the lookout, so before we get a group together and barge in, we ought to know for sure whether they're really holding Max alive and well."  
  
Logan caught on quickly enough. "You talking recon?"  
  
"Absolutely."  
  
*******  
  
The room became silent as Renfro entered, her very presence sending chills through the gathered technicians and engineers. She smiled at the fear she was able to strike and moved swiftly to the man she'd spoken with. What was his name? Lars Haskell? Yes, that was it. She'd rather reluctantly left X5-734 and X5-452 to themselves, ordering that they cease their sparring activities until she returned. X5-734 was, of course, given permission to use force to keep X5-452 in line.   
  
"Mr. Haskell," she greeted him.  
  
"Madame," he replied, bowing his head slightly out of both respect and intimidation. "Whoever entered has since logged off." She nodded slightly and, in fear of reprisal, he quickly added, "please don't be too disappointed, Madame. If it helps any, before they left, they went straight for the information on prototype X5-452, which I'm guessing is what you expected."  
  
"Yes, it is, and no, I'm not disappointed at all. All that was needed I've gained." She smiled and extended her hand, which he took warily. "Good work, Haskell," she commended him before abruptly turning and exiting the room. Such a gesture was rare from her, and as his fellow employees stared at him in shock and envy, he knew his day had been made.  
  
Renfro, meanwhile, ordered the mobilization of the hoverdrone and uploaded a picture of the technician. Lydecker (or whoever else it had been, though she doubted it was anyone but him) sure had gotten off quickly...either he was smarter than she'd anticipated, or Haskell had grown a brain, developed a conscience, and subsequently warned him. Either way, you can never be too careful. 


	10. And Now in Reverse

"She's gonna leave me alone with YOU?" Max chuckled as she leaned against the wall. Brin looked to her giggling companion a strange sort of anger flashing in her eyes.   
  
"And why is that so funny?" she asked, stepping closer. Max continued to giggle, feeling giddy albeit oddly so.   
  
"Well," Max began, "seems I took you out pretty good the night of the attack. You're a piece of cake to get past."   
  
Brin shook her head. "That's only because you caught me off guard. Try anything funny now, and there'll be a repeat of that night on the roof." She returned to her pacing on the opposite side of the room, eyeing the younger girl every few seconds. Max's giggling had ceased, but an amused grin still remained, and god was it annoying. It was Brin's all not to attack her just for that.   
  
"But still. You gotta admit this is pretty pathetic," Max continued. "In fact, this whole place is. Do you know how easy it was for us to get in? I would have expected better from the great Manticore." Brin snapped at this, crossing the room quickly to knee her fellow soldier hard in the stomach. Max collapsed and gasped briefly for air, but still the grin could not be wiped from her features and even she couldn't figure out why. She was desperately happy, though, perhaps because she was certain that soon she'd once again be a free woman. Other than that, it made little sense.   
  
"So you got in easy, fine," Brin huffed, "but you didn't get out, did you? You're in the last place you obviously want to be, we brought you in, and all you have to say is that we're pathetic?"   
  
"Truth hurts, don't it?" Her head was bashed hard into the ground at that and as her nose twisted in the wrong direction, a small trickle of blood exited through her left nostril. "I'll take that as a 'yes.'" The grin became a smile; that was Logan's kind of sarcasm, something she'd obviously picked up from him, and the thought of him added to her giddiness before she caught and reminded herself that he must be forgotten.   
  
"You're gonna be a real piece of work, you know that?" cried Brin, keeping her hand on the back of Max's head in case she felt the need to teach her another lesson.   
  
"You just can't admit to yourself that you're a failure, all of you. So I'm in here, oh well. The mission was to blow the DNA lab and we accomplished that objective. Face it; we won." It was Brin's turn to chuckle, though it was the chuckle of someone to whom happiness didn't come easily. Regardless, the ball was in her court now.   
  
"But you see, Max," Brin explained, "the fact that you were caught makes all of that a waste. We've regained one of our best; one who was closest to Zack and who therefore knows the most about the others. And we WILL pull that information from you eventually, whether or not you've made yourself forget. Once we're through with you, you'll understand how important it is that you remember, and you'll make yourself do so. In the meantime, Zack has graciously provided us with extra parts and plenty of DNA with which to restock the lab. YOU are the ones who lost, Max. Face it."   
  
The giddiness left, replaced with boiling rage and Max swung her arm behind her, aligning the edge of her palm with the pressure point in Brin's neck. Brin was faster, though, intercepting Max's arm and twisting it behind her back, then pushing her to the floor with her knee. Max groaned, then let out a long string of expletives as she kicked and struggled without progress. Brin held her tighter and suddenly found herself being overwhelmed by the sisterly sympathy she often felt when dealing with her escaped siblings. She sighed and wished Max would quit fighting; it only made things worse.   
  
"Calm down, Max. I don't want to hurt you," Brin pleaded softly.   
  
"The hell you don't!" Max spat, struggling harder. Another sigh escaped Brin's lips as she realized what she must do to prove herself and she released her sibling, kicking her rather gently but hard enough to roll her over and put a few feet of distance between them. Max quickly pulled herself into a sitting position but decided it was more to her benefit to act too worn out even for that, so she allowed herself to fall back onto her side. Brin knelt beside her as a pang of sadness washed over her.   
  
"I hope you don't think it's your fault, little sister," she whispered. "That things went wrong, I mean. That it has to happen like this. You've just been away from home too long."   
  
"Oh, bullshit! You were out there as long as the rest of us," Max pointed out bitterly.   
  
"Yeah, you're right," Brin admitted with a sad smile. "But I realize now that it's better in here. This is where we belong."   
  
"You only think that because they reprogrammed you that way."   
  
"That's not true," Brin insisted.   
  
"Oh, yes it is," came Max's retort. "I was there when they took you in, remember? You were practically begging for us not to let you go. But...we had to do what we had to do."   
  
"You did the right thing."   
  
Her peripheral vision allowed Max to spy the handcuffs by her feet where they'd been dropped, just out of Brin's line of sight. She hooked her toe under them and smiled sweetly at her sister, whose hard resolve was finally beginning to crumble. "Yeah...I guess we did."   
  
Brin felt happy, truly happy. It would be a difficult stretch for awhile, but she was slowly getting her sister back and it felt wonderful. "It's not so bad as you think. I mean...we can be a family again."   
  
//Perfect// Max thought. "That's true. Maybe...I'll get used to it. I still don't...I mean...I don't know. Just...help me try and make this work, okay?"   
  
"Sure thing," Brin said with a smile.   
  
Max mirrored the smile and offered her hand. "Truce?"   
  
"Truce." The sisters joined hands and shook firmly, a rare moment of joy passing through. It was over more quickly than Brin could tell; in an instant, Max had pulled her to the floor, flipped the handcuffs into her free hand, and hand-cuffed Brin face-down. One knee rested in the small of Brin's back, the other in the back of her knees, and she screamed every curse she could think of at her attacker.   
  
"I'm sorry, sis," Max said as she removed the keys for both the handcuffs and the door from Brin's pocket. "That was kind of a dirty trick. But I did what I had to do before, and now I'm doing it again. Meanwhile, you need to hush up." She slammed the older girl's head into the floor a good number of times, and then all was silent as Brin fell unconscious. Max scrambled to her feet and looked down with sorrow at her elder sister. Part of her wanted to convince Brin to come along. Part of her wanted that more than anything. But the other half, the half that usually never came forward but which the circumstances of Zack's death had now magnified, told her that Brin was presently no more than the enemy and that she was weak and thusly dangerous. It was the soldier within her talking, and it was the soldier that won out.   
  
"Hmph, and Zack said -I- was weak," she muttered before moving to the door. She looked over her shoulder once before leaving and breaking the key off in the lock. "Next time, maybe you people won't be so careless when it comes to security. Man, keeping the keys in your own back pocket...how dumb can you possibly get?" With that, she called up her memory and quietly moved along the wall to the janitor's closet she'd noted earlier.


	11. Tonight

All righty. First I have to say that in lieu of a recent review, I realized that the final paragraph in chapter 9 is a little ambiguous. The person Renfro plans to kill with the hoverdrone is Haskell, NOT Lydecker or Logan...so I've rewritten a sentence or two in that. I could've gone places with that plot development, that is true. Interesting things could have happened. But I've planned too far ahead and written too far ahead to do anything about that now. Well, actually, I could rewrite the next 6 chapters but I'm too lazy and I like most of them too much, hehe. SO YEAH. And now onto chapter 11...  
  
*******  
  
"It's too dangerous for both of us to go," Lydecker stated with a cool sense of finality.  
  
Logan nodded. "I'll agree on that. I'm guessing you'll be the one who's going?"  
  
"Of course," replied Lydecker with a grin. "I know the layout of the place better than I know myself, and we can't count on that third-rate exoskeleton of yours to keep you standing. Speaking of which...it heightens ability for those who can walk on their own, correct?"  
  
Logan eyed his companion suspiciously. Oh, the regret that flooded his senses at that moment...how familiar it was beginning to become. "Correct...why?"  
  
"Well, I was just thinking...if I had such a device at my disposal..."  
  
"No way," Logan interjected. "Get that idea out of your head immediately." The nerve...they become reluctant partners and suddenly Lydecker thinks he can walk all over him. Jesus, that was a horrible way of describing it, considering Logan's physical limitations. He cringed at the thought.  
  
"It would do me (and our mission) a great deal of good to be able to run faster and jump higher than the average Joe, Logan," Lydecker pointed out with an irritated sigh.   
  
"I don't care," insisted Logan. "You're not getting it. I mean, let's say you get caught..."  
  
"I WON'T get caught."  
  
"Well, let's just say the possibility is there, for argument's sake. You get caught, I don't get my exoskeleton back. What am I supposed to do then, hmm? Save for my hacking abilities I'll be completely useless."  
  
Another sigh found its way past Lydecker's lips. "All right, good point. I won't use it." He stood silent for a moment, daring to exercise the possibility of failure. He doubted they'd need it (modesty was not one of his strong points), but it was still a good idea to make a reserve. "Let's keep going with that. On the off-chance that I'm caught, we should have some sort of back-up."  
  
"Without a doubt," agreed the younger man. "I could come get you..."  
  
"...but if they bring me down, you've got no chance in hell of getting past them," the Colonel finished for him.  
  
The anger welled up once again. The same sort that he'd experienced when he and Max had gone to Cape Haven, a toxic concoction of self-resentment and bitter envy. Lydecker probably hadn't meant the statement in such a way, and somewhere within himself he knew it would be true even if he had use of his legs. But it still hurt. It still struck him hard and deep and he felt as useless as he'd pointed himself out to be. He felt like a lousy degenerate, unable to take care of himself or do simple tasks on his own. But acting out on those feelings wasn't going to bring Max back so he stifled them and mumbled a quiet and dejected "right."  
  
"So," Lydecker started, ignoring the sullen state Logan had suddenly fallen into, "I think what should be done is that I'll plan to contact you as soon as I'm clear. Minimal contact should be kept while I'm on task to ensure your safety. If I don't contact you in a few days...three, tops..."  
  
The pause lasted a little longer than Logan could stand. "Yes, you don't contact me, so I..." He gestured impatiently for the older man to continue. Lydecker drew it out a few moments longer, unsure of whether to present the idea that had materialized. He was torn, between wanting to protect everything he'd worked so hard on and wanting to exact revenge while freeing the kids for whom he now supposed he cared too much. He hadn't meant to get this attached...and in that respect he envied Renfro, because she didn't care, and accomplishing the objective was still all that mattered to her. But she was the enemy, and she had done him wrong, and this would be wonderful payback...or a surefire way to get himself and Logan killed. He quickly weighed the pros and cons, and finally decided to throw caution to the wind and suggest it. They probably wouldn't have to go to such extremes, anyway.  
  
"Go public," he stated simply. Logan's jaw dropped. He couldn't possibly mean...  
  
"You can't possibly mean..."  
  
"Yes," he quickly snapped before he could begin the process of changing his mind. "That's EXACTLY what I mean. Go public with Manticore. Do your Eyes Only thing. Alert the masses."  
  
Logan gulped loudly. He couldn't tell whether such permission was a golden opportunity or a one-way ticket to the nearest funeral home. "Is...that wise?" he muttered.  
  
"Probably not," Lydecker admitted, looking just as shocked at his own words as Logan was. "But it might be the only way, and it'll do a hell of a lot of damage. People listen to you, Logan, and they won't stand for something like this. Once they know...it would undoubtedly be Manticore's undoing. With the DNA lab destroyed, the last thing they need is to lose their confidentiality and become the target of every group of radicals out there, from human rights activists to those who are just looking to attain such technology. It would put them on the run, which will open a window, however small, that allows for easier infiltration and escape. Of course, this will last only a day or two at most before they tighten security...but any semblance of a chance is worth taking."  
  
"And if no one believes me?"  
  
Lydecker chuckled uneasily. "They believe everything else you say...why wouldn't they believe this?"  
  
"Well," Logan said, chewing nervously on the end of a random pen, "this is a little more...out there than my usual work."  
  
"What about the hoverdrone scandal?" his partner inquired.  
  
"That was completely different. People expected something like that," Logan explained. "This...this is a whole other story. And...realistically speaking, Eyes Only and his popularity can't last forever. Something like this may be the last straw for some people."  
  
"I think that's a chance we're going to have to take." It was said more like an order than a statement...firm and final. The subject was closed, and a fresh dose of regret coursed through Logan's veins. He knew at this point that however long it was just the two of them, he'd never get the final say. He wasn't working with Lydecker...he was working FOR him. The other day's rant (and the impact it had had) was nothing more than a fluke, probably only allowed because of the hangover. With X-5s on his side, Logan had a sense of power and was able to take control of the situation. By himself, he was just an average rich liberal white guy, no match for an experienced Colonel.  
  
"Okay. So," he said, the pen dropping to his lap. Rather symbolic, he thought. "When are we gonna do this?"  
  
"Tonight."  
  
*******  
  
Tonight.  
  
Something was about to happen. It was felt through and through.  
  
More testing and attempts at reprogramming filled the present, but after tonight that would be no more. After tonight there would be freedom.  
  
That was an exciting feeling, a good one, especially in these days when both emotional and physical pain were all-consuming and anything even bordering on happiness was rare. Even with escape, there would still be guilt and that nagging sense of failure, but so be it. It would probably go away eventually, and if it didn't, selective memory loss could always be attempted again. Or, if that did not work, such emotions could be shifted to the background and imagined not to have ever existed. Yes. It wasn't important now, anyway. What's done is done...the past can't be changed. But it can be used to change the future, and that's precisely what would be done. It would be used as ammunition, more reason to escape, more reason to destroy Manticore. Yes.  
  
Perfect.  
  
Everything would start to go correctly again. After freedom was regained. After tonight.  
  
It was felt through and through. 


	12. I'd Wish You Good Luck, But...

She heaved a sigh of relief when she entered the closet. It was fairly large, more like a small room, and it was vacant, with a stark gray uniform draped over a stool. Though she could obviously have easily taken out any individual she happened to come across, such a confrontation would no doubt lead to swift recapture. It was to her benefit to go as long as possible without running into anyone.  
  
She quickly discarded the military fatigues they'd dressed her in and pulled on the janitors' jacket, whose sleeves she needed to roll up slightly. She moved on to the pants, which had a patch advertising some band sewn onto them, and banged her fist against the wall when they slid off her hips to rest in a heap about her ankles. She searched the room frantically for a savior, and found it in the form of a large, old-fashioned mop, from whose head she ripped a piece of rope to use as a makeshift belt. The pants continued to sag, but at least they stayed up. She used a pencil to hold her hair in a messy bun atop her head, which she secured with the uniform's cap, then flipped up the jacket's collar to cover her barcode. She briefly checked her appearance in the shiny surface of an aluminum wash bucket, then, satisfied, inwardly reviewed her escape plan and ventured back out into the hall.  
  
*******  
  
They drove in silence, bothering not even to glance at each other. Both had their doubts and feared for the worst, but neither wanted the other to know. It was better that each thought the other man was certain and fearless. It was better because otherwise, someone might break down and they might have time to reconsider and they might call off the mission. With such high stakes, that was not an option. Failure was not an option.  
  
It was for this reason that neither was aware they both shared the same nagging sense of dread. Each had this awful feeling like something was about to go horribly wrong, but they figured it was just nerves so it went ignored. The silence deafened, the tension mounted, and the thought of hanging oneself suddenly became inexplicably prominent...  
  
*******  
  
Something wasn't right.  
  
The door had a window at the top, and all she could see through it was the opposite wall. Sure, she was still a good 40 feet away, and they could both very well be sitting down. But...something about it was extraordinarily unsettling, so she picked up her pace.  
  
"God dammit!" she exclaimed as she reached the door and peered inside. On the floor lay X5-734, handcuffed and unconscious, with X5-452 nowhere to be seen. She nervously fished through her pocket for her extra set of keys. The lock wouldn't turn, though, and she realized with dismay that the escapee must have broken her off her copy. The girl had definitely been underestimated...but though it frustrated and angered her to no end, it also filled her with a sick sense of pride. X5-452 certainly was living up to her potential, moreso apparently than even X5-599. They'd had high hopes for him, but he hadn't done anything like this. He couldn't...he was too foolishly resistant ever to gain enough freedom to attempt it. He'd sacrificed something to his younger sister, a cunning and strength sadly lacking in the current X5s. All the more reason she needed to be caught, subdued and reprogrammed immediately.  
  
Renfro reached for the alarm on the wall, then thought better of it. Such would not only alert security to X5-452's insubordinance, but also warn her that she'd been found out. Instead, Renfro removed her cell and phoned the head of security.  
  
*******  
  
Cid Watkins pushed his cell back into the deep pockets of his janitor uniform and went back to work. Be on alert, they'd said. One of the X5s was attempting escape, they'd said. She was about 5 ft. 7, with brown eyes and dark brown hair falling just below her shoulders. Wouldn't be difficult to recognize, either, as all other X5s had been ordered to return to their barracks and remain there until further notice. Hmph. Like he, a lowly, unlucky janitor was likely to spot her. He never got any breaks. He certainly wasn't about to start today.  
  
He heard footsteps ahead of him and looked up to see a fellow janitor turning from a hall a few yards away and heading off opposite from him. The patch on the leg told him immediately who it was: Samuel. Strange guy, Samuel. Liked to be called his full first name. Hated it when you called him otherwise. Also was the only one who'd ever bothered to "decorate" his uniform. No one else saw the need or even wanted to, but he'd gone right on and sewn that patch, to the displeasure of the director. She'd let him keep it, though, cuz it wasn't like a huge deal or anything and she had more important things to worry about. Anyway, the point is, he stood out. You could tell him from a mile away. Which is probably why it registered so quickly with Cid that something was very different. For one thing, the man had apparently shrunken in size. Then there was the fact that he didn't have a broom or bucket or anything like that. Of course, the fact that his shift had ended something like 45 minutes ago was fairly prominent as well. Strange stuff, even for Samuel.  
  
"'Ey, buddy!" Cid called down the hall after the man. "Samuel! Yo, Samuel!"  
  
*******  
  
"SAMUEL!"  
  
Max flinched as the name was called out once again. //Man, get a clue,// she thought. //The guy obviously isn't up to...// She ceased moving as it dawned on her and she looked down to spy the name patch over the jacket's breast pocket. It read SAMUEL HARDING.  
  
"Crap, that's me," she whispered to herself. She swallowed hard as she heard the man jogging to catch up with her, then began walking again when he tried to sidle up beside her.  
  
"Samuel, what's with you? You sure are acting strange."  
  
"Well, um..." Max mumbled gruffly, deepening her voice, "...I've got a, uh, some kind of bug. *cough* I'm cutting out early." She thought for a second, then added, "but don't tell anybody, man! I'm definitely not in good condition to be chewed out by that blonde bitch." She was relieved when she sensed that he'd stopped walking after her, but stopped her own motion as the next set of words he uttered sent her stomach leaping into her throat.  
  
"What are you talking about? Your shift ended nearly an hour ago."  
  
"Is that so?" she chuckled nervously. "Well, I guess this thing's made me delirious or something, cuz I completely forgot, heh. Silly me." There was a brief pause before he said exactly what was needed to send her running.  
  
"Oh, really? Well, is this 'bug' of yours also the reason you've managed to shrink about a foot and lose about 20 pounds in one day?"  
  
She knew running would confirm the suspicions he was developing, but if she hung around any longer, that was going to happen anyway. So she fled, she fled as fast as her legs could carry her.  
  
Cid watched the figure run, calling out a couple "heys" before it occurred to him just who this person actually was. Without thinking, he rushed to the nearest alarm and slammed his fist into it, sending lights flashing and sirens wailing.  
  
*******  
  
"Dammit!!" Renfro cried as the sights and sounds of the alarm system filled the building. "The fools...the rotten fools..."  
  
Meanwhile, in a room just down the hall from her, a group of panicked doctors met their doom in the form of a very angry and very eager to escape prisoner. Then, freedom... well, not just yet, but it was certain to come now. What had set off the alarm was unknown but such was inconsequential. What was important is that it was the perfect distraction. All personnel were rushing away, not bothering to pay attention to what was right in front of them. The objective was something else...no, SOMEONE else. But who? Who else was there? Those who came to mind were either dead or reprogrammed. No bother. It wasn't what mattered at the moment. What mattered was escape.  
  
Strange that it had been known earlier, felt that it would happen. But that was yet another thing that didn't matter. It was a coincidence, plain and simple, nothing more.   
  
Escape. Freedom.  
  
Perfect. 


	13. Near Miss

Sharp through her ran the wail of the alarm. She wanted to block it out but the alternative was to listen to the rapid, frightful thumping of Zack's heart, so she dealt with it and kept on. On through the halls flashing red, quickly melting into a purple haze as her speed increased. Vaguely she was aware that she'd been spotted and gained a tail, just enough to concentrate on keeping out of their reach, just barely enough.  
  
She rounded a corner and flattened herself against the wall; she needed a few seconds to think. Confront them? No. She'd manage a throw or two but she couldn't take them all at once. At least one would have time to zap her with tazers. Continue running on the planned route? No, she'd never be able to lose them, not fully. She glanced hurriedly about her surroundings and honed in on the ventilation shaft running down the middle of the ceiling. It followed every corridor. If she worked her way inside of it, she could follow the original plan without being seen. Perfect. Miracles never cease.  
  
Mere nanoseconds passed between conception and execution, and by the time the guards had turned said corner, she'd pulled herself into the vent and shimmied away from the grate. She now lay silent in wait, ear pressed to the bottom.   
  
"Where'd she go?"  
  
"How the hell should I know?"  
  
A few mumbled expletives...yadda yadda...  
  
"Man, Renfro's gonna have our asses. On a silver platter. With those nasty green leaves that are just there for decoration."  
  
Ahh, Renfro. So THAT'S the chick Lydecker was talking about...man, was he ever right about her...  
  
"Would you calm yourself?"  
  
"Hey...psst...d'ya think maybe...?"  
  
"It's possible. Check it out."  
  
Her breath caught as a stream of light passed through the grate and illuminated the innards of the vent. It passed a length in front of her then just above her head before disappearing back down into the world below.  
  
"Nope. Nothin' there."  
  
"Jesus, man, she's probably run to the other side of the building by now, after all the time we just wasted."  
  
"Didn't I tell you to calm down?"  
  
"Well, ya know, it's just I'd rather NOT be fired today."  
  
"Then let's go!"  
  
They ran off down the hall, their heavy footsteps fading into distant echoes. She waited until she could detect no sound apart from the siren and incessant, inescapable heartbeat, then continued on her merry way to freedom.  
  
*******  
  
He'd been wanting to say it the entire time, from the moment they'd climbed into the car. Something inside of him wanted, NEEDED to present a way out of this. As badly as he wanted to go through with it, the thought had grown to make his stomach churn and had turned him into a near nervous wreck. He didn't want to seem like the type to back down. He usually wasn't. But it had to be said, even if just out of good will.  
  
"You don't have to do this, ya know," he uttered quickly as the older man stepped from the vehicle. "If you honestly think it's a trap, we can head back and find another way. It may take a while, but I can always dig up information the way I usually do." For a moment, he thought he saw a flash of relief in Lydecker's eyes, but it was gone just as quickly.  
  
"By the time you get it that way, it'll probably be too late," he stated coldly. Logan let his gaze fall to the floor of the cab, then lifted his face plastered anew with his patented Sure This is Bad News, But I Understand and I'm Okay smile.  
  
"I know," he lied. "I was just trying to make you feel better, you know, giving you a way out in case you wanted it."  
  
A small, barely detectable grin tugged at the corners of Lydecker's mouth. "Don't bother." He slammed the door shut at that, eager to break contact before he actually did take the presented out, and began pulling on the black ski mask Logan had supplied. He usually didn't resort to such sophomoric tactics, but extra protection of any sort was welcome on this kind of mission.  
  
Logan watched his companion prepare for a moment or two before finally gathering himself enough to pull away from the scene. He turned the radio on full blast, but not even that could drown out the feeling like he'd just sentenced himself to death.  
  
*******  
  
There wasn't a soul in any direction, and the blind spot of the only security camera within the area was an easy jump from the opening. She waited until it had panned away from her, then lowered herself down halfway before swinging out and landing against the right wall. Nearly two weeks ago she'd entered through this very hall, and it was finally time to leave. Only now, it was all up to her. There were no siblings. There was no getaway car. Just her, her legs, the dark expanse of the forest and good old-fashioned luck. Damn those rotten X7s...  
  
The outside air hit her fresh and wonderful, filling her lungs to the brim, breathing life into her. Her legs pumped nearly as fast as the refreshed blood through her veins and the adrenaline set free by the knowledge that she'd once again beaten the all powerful Manticore, the proverbial Hell on Earth. The fence was cleared, trees passed, the site upon which she'd fallen dead left far behind. In the distance she thought she heard yelling and the sound of a few rounds being fired in her direction, but none of it was close enough to worry about. It was a part of everything that no longer mattered. It was a part of the past, a past of sorrow and careless mistakes. It was over and done with.  
  
The present called for perfect freedom from everything and everyone. The present would be paid in full. 


	14. That Can't be Healthy

Gunfire.  
  
He heard gunfire.  
  
His fall to the ground was instinctive, his reluctance to lift his head and check his surroundings a side-effect of his fear. Had he been caught? Had he been right when he'd identified the information as bait? Were they expecting this? Were they anticipating his every move?  
  
He sighed heavily and pulled himself to his knees when he realized it was moving away from both him and his destination. Why, he couldn't begin to speculate, and he didn't really care to know. It was probably just some foolish intruder who had fortunately chosen this exact moment to serve as an involuntary decoy. He quickly surveyed his surroundings, then moved swiftly through to the building he'd considered his second home only a few short weeks ago.  
  
What he found there was chaos and panic; alarms flashing, personnel rushing into the forest in confirmation of his intruder theory. Whoever it was must have discovered something mighty important. He hadn't seen the operation in this sort of frightened disarray since the original escape.  
  
Wait a minute.  
  
Had the intruder been an X-5, perhaps attempting infiltration to rescue Max and/or Zack? Or...was the individual in question actually not an intruder at all? An escapee...Max, even. He considered aborting the mission to find out but decided against it. He had no chance of catching up with said fugitive on foot, and commandeering a vehicle probably wouldn't bode well for his anonymity. Besides, Renfro had never been smart when it came to matters of security, and this was presently affording him perfect opportunity to enter without incident. He'd find out in due time what was going on, perhaps an added bonus to learning what had truly happened to Max and Zack.  
  
Manticore's interior was in much the same state as its outside. It was filled with the wail and flash of the alarm and the occasional group of guards or soldiers moving hurriedly through the corridors. He didn't know how many small rooms and crevices he had to slip into to keep unnoticed, and eventually decided it would be best to get himself some sort of disguise. If they didn't register a man clad in all black and concealed by a ski mask as being a security risk, they really were lost without him.  
  
He spotted a lone guard coming toward him from his current hiding place and prepared himself for the quick and easy battle ahead. The younger man ran by only to be intercepted by the elder, who went straight for the throat and rendered him unconscious. The guard fell to the floor in a heap, and the last thing the intruder heard was the sound of approaching footsteps and a grunt of exertion before something hard and heavy made contact with the base of his skull and knocked him cold.  
  
*******  
  
"Has she been retrieved?" Renfro demanded.  
  
"No, ma'am," the guard replied nervously. "She...she was just a little too fast for us."  
  
"A LITTLE TOO FAST?!" the director exploded.  
  
"Well, she IS an X-5..."  
  
"Indeed she is, which is why this is exactly what you should have anticipated! There's an amazing thing in the military that we like to call 'strategy.' I suggest you look into it."  
  
The guard shifted anxiously from foot to foot and searched for some sort of saving grace. "Um...the choppers have been deployed and are, um, establishing an airborne perimeter. It's highly possible that they've still a chance of bringing her in."  
  
" 'Highly possible' isn't good enough," she huffed in a harsh whisper, "and unless X5-452 is caught and returned to base in the next 24 hours, you and a great many of your colleagues will be finding yourselves on the wrong end of a highly dishonorable discharge."  
  
He gulped noticably; he'd been around here long enough to know that such wasn't simply a fancy way of saying "you're fired," but was also a promise that one would not be alive much longer. He had to make her feel better somehow...  
  
"Look on the bright side, ma'am," he said when it came to him, eliciting an arched eyebrow from his boss, "at least we've still got the other one in captivity."  
  
That was indeed true, and she nodded slightly before focusing her attention on the soldier who was presently rushing into the room.   
  
"Ma'am!" he shouted with a salute.  
  
"At ease," she sighed, clearly annoyed and mentally exhausted.  
  
"I apologize in advance for the report I am about to deliver, but it seems that protoype X5-452 was not the only prisoner to escape."  
  
"WHAT?!"  
  
"Oh crap..." the guard whispered to himself. The soldier, meanwhile, immediately regretted his decision to go with the age old approach of Bad News First.  
  
"Um...uh..."  
  
Renfro was having great difficulty controlling her emotions at the moment, and probably would have attacked the men in front of her had she not been embarrassingly untrained in areas of combat. "You mean to tell me that the other..."  
  
"Yes, the other..."  
  
"DON'T INTERRUPT ME!!" she screeched.  
  
"S...sorry ma'am," he stammered. This was definitely not the best way to move up in rank.  
  
The director paced madly in front of the two men, trying to decide just what she was going to do to take her anger out on them. The hoverdrone was considered but then discarded as being too painless. Hmm...looks like she had a couple test subjects for any new biological agents and torture devices the medics were currently working on. Oh yes, how maliciously delicious that would be.  
  
"Ma'am," the soldier blurted when he'd gathered the courage.  
  
"What now?!" she cried, turning to face him, a perfect picture of rage and sadism.  
  
"Despite our losses, something good HAS come out of this mess."  
  
"Go on," she encouraged, her demeanor softening slightly with the onset of curiosity.  
  
"Well, my group and I were in the midst of deployment when I thought I saw a dark figure ducking into a vacant room. At first I was going to dismiss it as a trick of the light, but then I remembered the fear of intrusion you'd expressed and decided it would be best to investigate. Upon discovering that there really was someone there, I broke from the group and waited nearby for the intruder to emerge." As unprofessional as it was, he couldn't help but grin slightly when his boss' scowl melted into a look of satisfied realization. "To make a long story short, I managed to subdue and capture him." He paused for effect. "And ma'am, he's Colonel Lydecker." 


	15. Prologue to Fireworks

A/N: Welp, let the angst portion of our journey begin, heh. On another note, the lyrics are courtesy of Incubus, who kick a hell of a lot of ass. :)  
*******  
  
  
//If Zack could deal with it, then so can I,// she told herself as the needle passed her flesh. Some old pre-Pulse rock song was blaring...and though it wasn't really her type of music, she had to admit that it was pretty.  
  
~I lean against the wind  
Pretend that I am weightless  
And in this moment I am happy  
Happy  
I wish you were here...~  
  
//I wish you were here, big brother.//  
  
She flinched noticeably, and the "artist" asked if she wanted him to stop. It would have been so easy to tell him that she did. The thing would, afterall, return in a couple of weeks. But this time around, she was in far greater danger of exposure. She needed to wipe her identity as cleanly as possible if she expected to avoid recapture.  
  
"No," she finally growled firmly. He shrugged and continued his work, a single tear slipping off her cheek as tangible evidence of more than one sort of pain.  
  
*******  
  
He was chewing that random pen again.  
  
He felt like he'd been plucked straight from the most cliché of suspense novels. Each passing second was an eternity, each tick of the clock sharp and painful. He couldn't believe he'd actually survived the 24 hours since Lydecker had left.  
  
He took up pacing for a good 10 minutes or so, then finally decided he couldn't take being confined indoors at the moment, even in an apartment as large as his own. He grabbed his jacket and wandered out into the street, recoiling into himself and letting his unconscious lead the way.  
  
*******  
  
It used to be that looking down at the city would make her feel better.  
  
The back of her neck burned ferociously from her barcode's removal, a sensation definitely preferable to the unpleasant and deepening ache in her stomach. The scene below didn't help; it served no purpose other than to remind of everything that, by morning, would no longer be a part of her life. Original Cindy, the first real friend she'd ever had; Herbal Thought and his confusing pearls of wisdom; Sketchy and his highly amusing idiocy; Normal and his constant bip bip bipping...why had she let herself get so attached to them? Why couldn't she have done as Zack, why couldn't she have seen it? She wouldn't be in this position right now. None of them would be.  
  
Her thoughts drifted where they shouldn't, to Logan. It's not like she could help it. She should and she had to learn how, but right now she really seemed to feel like sulking so she let him seep into and fill her thoughts. How must he be doing right now? Awful, she imagined...oh god, what about his medical file? His suicidal tendencies? What if she was killing him by leaving...what if he was already dead? How could he...how...how could any of this be happening? God dammit, it was so unfair. Why couldn't everything had just worked themselves out? They always did because rotten horrible things like this weren't supposed to happen to her anymore, and the only time it had ended bitterly before all this was when Ben had died. That was the first time in a while and it should have been the last. Everything should have gone according to plan. Tinga should have been successfully rescued. Better yet, Zack shouldn't have had the nerve to show up at the most inopportune moment possible. He'd still be alive and she wouldn't be up here depressed as all hell and saying her silent good-byes to everything and everyone she loved.   
  
She was crying now, harder than she had in her entire life. Not just because she was leaving but because it seemed that no matter what, she was destined to lose. She grabbed at Zack's heart (she refused ever to think of it as her own) and wished she could tear it out. She felt like dying. No matter what had happened in her life, she'd never felt like dying until this very moment. God, it was weak to think that way, so weak and she hated herself for it. The tears fell heavier and she buried her face in her arms, willing herself to drown though she knew it was impossible.  
  
The tears disappeared when she heard what sounded like another coming up to join her, though. She sniffled her sorrows away for the moment, turning and instictively preparing for attack. She straightened slowly when the figure emerged, her mind surging and her body going numb and cold from the conflicted emotions that consumed her. Savior or otherwise, she couldn't yet tell, but she unconsciously stepped back when he spoke, his voice incredulous.  
  
"Max?" 


	16. Ka-Boom

His heart pounded and the adrenaline rushed to the point of nearly sending him into delirium. Right there. Right before his eyes. //This isn't possible,// his mind rebelled. //This isn't real.// But it was. For whatever the reason, for whatever natural laws it had broken, it was real. She was actually there, in front of him, staring at him in a strange, excited mix of fear and relief.  
  
He took a step closer, she another step back. Why? Why would she feel the need to greaten the distance between them? After all that had happened...  
  
"L...Logan," she stammered, trying to gather her composure. Encouraged, he moved to step forward again, but she gestured for him to stay put. "Don't, okay? Just don't. This is hard enough as it is."  
  
He took the hint and moved backward a yard or two, visibly hurt, which didn't exactly bode well for her current emotional state. Briefly she wanted to run to him and forget her plans of leaving, forget her loyalty to Zack. She was dying for him to do something, anything that would give her an excuse to stay. But then, she also wanted him to turn and leave for the same reason. Staying was dangerous, for herself and, now that she thought about it, for him as well. One man had already died for loving her...why add another to the count?  
  
"Look, I...I'm sorry," she said softly. "I...I don't know. It's just better right now if we...you know. Don't get too close and get all mushy or anything."  
  
He nodded. He didn't understand, but arguing the point surely wouldn't help the matter any. It wasn't worth it.   
  
"So..." he began, suddenly at a loss for words.  
  
"So," she sighed. This was harder than she thought. Maybe she should have skipped coming to Seattle altogether."I...guess you're looking for an explanation." //Yes, an explanation. That'll freak him out...maybe he'll even see where I'm coming from.//  
  
"It would be nice," he replied. He gulped at the look of anguish that had suddenly crossed her face and sensed he was about to be told something monumental.  
  
"Phew," she huffed, pooling her remaining strength. "Okay...um...Zack made an incredible sacrifice," Max whispered. "See, um...the reason I died was my left ventricle collapsed, so they had to give me a heart transplant. Only the thing is, I'm an X-5. I need an X-5's heart." The truth was beginning to dawn on Logan and he didn't like it at all. "And that wouldn't have been possible...if Zack hadn't killed himself."  
  
It suddenly became possible to feel the Earth's spin and he had no choice but to sit down. He probably would have fallen to his death if he'd been any closer to the Needle's edge.  
  
"He gave his life for me," she continued as the tears began to fall once again. "Do you have any idea what that's like, Logan? To be responsible for the death of two of your brothers?"  
  
He nearly had to slap himself. "Wait...two?!"  
  
She turned slightly, just enough to flash him a cold, bitter smile. "Why do you think Ben stopped killing?"  
  
//Oh god...oh god...oh god...// He was suffocating. The air was toxic and he was choking on it. She couldn't...she wouldn't have... 'She's not the girl next door.' But she wasn't a killer, she wasn't. 'They were designed to kill. Coldly, efficiently, happily.' He mentally screamed at Lydecker's recurring words. Lydecker was an ally now and Max wasn't a killer. SHE WASN'T A GODDAMNED KILLER. And even if she was, her brother? No. This was a dream. That was the only explanation. It had to be a dream.  
  
"Are...you okay?" she ventured. He looked as though someone had knocked him in the stomach with a sledgehammer, and she deeply regretted mentioning Ben.  
  
"Sure," he assured her, faking a smile. She took in a deep breath and waited for him to compose before continuing.  
  
"Anyway...from all of this, all that's happened...I know now that Zack was right. About me being weak and reckless and all. If I stay here I'm a danger to myself, to the others..." She looked to him, a sad and haunted quality to her eyes. "...To you."  
  
Hot fear laced with anger bubbled up from the bottom of his stomach and tingled painfully around his temples. "That's not true..."  
  
"Yes, it is. All of it. Which is why I've got to leave."  
  
"Well then what are you doing up here?"  
  
"I just...I just wanted to say good-bye."  
  
"Oh, right. You wanted to say good-bye," he mocked, once again letting his emotions get the best of him. "But not to the people who care about you and whom you supposedly care about, no. To the city. Because it's easier that way, isn't it? It's easier to sit up here and pretend we all hugged you and merrily wished you luck rather than actually confront us and face our pain and sadness at your departure." He had gotten rather passionate and was standing once again. Max turned completely and walked over to him, but for once, she was speechless.  
  
"I...I don't believe this," was all she managed to mumble.  
  
"What? You don't believe that I'm right? You don't believe that the only reason you're leaving is because you think it's the only way you can hold on to Zack?"  
  
"That's bullshit, Logan, and you know it. I'm leaving because I have to and I want to."  
  
"If that were true, you would have left already. You wouldn't be up here wallowing in self-pity like you were when I first arrived."  
  
She grasped for a stinging insult, but tonight, she apparently was not at her articulate best. All she could manage was, "god...why do you always have to be such an asshole?"  
  
"Oh, an asshole, is that what I am now? You sure didn't seem to feel that way during our little 'celebration,' or were you lying when you said you were no longer in 'heat'?" He immediately regretted it. That was probably one of the cruelest things he had ever said to her...to anyone, and the pained, sorrowful anger that subsequently filled her eyes told him he'd just blown it. He'd chased her away, and the odds of her coming back were slim to none.   
  
"Fuck you," she whispered before pushing him out of her way and rushing off the Needle. She couldn't remember ever feeling such pain, even when she'd been told what Zack had done. She felt as though someone had snapped her in two, and it was so disparaging and numbing that she couldn't find the strength even to cry. The world was blurring, and the only obvious solution was to leave as quickly as she could, to get her bike somehow and ride out of there and never look back. No more good-byes; this was the end, quick and definite.  
  
//Thanks a lot, Logan.// 


	17. Fear and Self-Loathing in Seattle

Very Important A/N: Okay, I decided to post all the remaining chapters I have written because this thing may be about to go on hiatus. My ISP is on the verge of bankrupcy, you see, and my connection might be turned off tonight. So this may very well be the last any of you hear from me or this story for awhile. If this does happen, I'll probably have the rest written by the time I get back on-line so you'll get the rest of it at that point, heh. Anyway...for the select few of you who actually give a damn about this story, I'm sorry to leave you hanging, but hey, if you think about it, this was a pretty good chapter to begin the hiatus on, eh? Nice little pseudo-cliffhanger. It'll be just like waiting all summer for the new season to begin, lol. But enough of my rambling...  
*******  
  
  
Since last night, she had felt as though someone was watching her, waiting for her to leave. Not that it surprised her; someone had managed to rip off a thing or two a couple days ago, and it was no secret they were looking for more. Max's bike had been moved from its sacred resting place and crashed heavily to the floor when the criminal had rushed out the window in a panic. Its new home, freshly bent handlebars, micellaneous dents and all, was in the room Max had once called her own, and Original Cindy was deadset on protecting it. Besides the lone photograph pinned up on the refridgerator, the bike was all she had left of her best friend. No one was going to rob her of that.  
  
She exited the apartment and leaned back against the door, hardly daring to breathe. Sure enough, she heard the slight click of the window being opened and the soft, almost imperceptible sound of someone jumping to the floor. A few seconds later, she burst through the door and grabbed frantically for the knife she had taken to securing in her sock since she'd found out who and what Max really was.  
  
"Freeze!" she yelled at the intruder, who had, as she'd expected, gone straight to the bike and who was presently shrouded in shadow. "Don't move, 'less you want me to gut you." //Aw, who you foolin? Like you got the balls to gut anybody. Original Cindy may go for the ladies, but she ain't no macho.//  
  
The burglar did as asked, shoulders visibly tightening, in much the way did those of a frightened cat. Only two people she'd ever met in her life had reminded her of a feline, and they were both supposed to be dead. But this person's likeness to one of them had suddenly become painfully uncanny.  
  
"L...look," she stammered as she tried to control her rising emotions, "much as I definitely will should I have to, I ain't all down with hurtin you. If I don't gotta resort to that, it's more'n cool with me. So why don't ya just get yo'self outta here right quick so none of us hafta get in a situation we ain't wanna be in."  
  
"Well...I can't say I don't agree with you," said the thief softly. God, that voice was so familiar. God...it couldn't be, could it? The figure turned, her face coming into the light, and a fresh batch of tears welled up in the corners of Cindy's eyes. "But I AM taking the bike."  
  
"Oh god, Max," Cindy whispered, dropping the knife and rushing without a second thought to embrace her friend. Even her tears were shocked away when Max backed out of the hug, nearly toppling over her "baby" in the process. "Boo, whuz wrong?"  
  
"Nothing, I...I gotta blaze." Max rounded her bike, scoffing at the bumps and bruises it had suffered in her absence but figuring them relatively unimportant at the moment. This was not going well at all; horribly, in fact. Such a run-in was probably even less welcome than the one with Logan and she felt rotten. Rotten and fearful of another stupid argument. Such needed to be avoided; her departure this time around had to be as swift as possible, so she wheeled her bike from her room and took care to avert her eyes from Cindy's questioning gaze.  
  
"Oh, nothin, is it?" she snapped as Max stalked by. "Yeah, nothin 'cept Original Cindy's homegirl's actin like she ain't recognize her best friend. Seriously, girl, what's on wit you?"  
  
Max heaved a wavery sigh. "Nothing I want you to have to deal with, okay? I'm talking black helicopter stuff, which is why I need to get out of here."  
  
"But...why? It don't make sense...I mean, they ain't never keep you from stayin before. What's so different now? You got friends here, Max. I'M your friend. I don't want fools takin you down again, for sure, but I ain't like ta see you hurtin none, either, and I can tell that you are. Somethin pretty wack musta happened...at least clue me in some."  
  
"I can't do that," Max replied with a sniffle. "I already did once, and..." //The pain...oh god, Zack, why didn't I listen in the first place?// "...well...let's just say I already ended one relationship on a bad note. I don't want that to be the way it goes down with you and me, okay?" She didn't give Cindy a chance to answer...minutes later she was speeding toward the state line, trying to focus on the rush she typically received from the ride but failing miserably.  
  
Cindy, meanwhile, couldn't keep from collapsing in sobs. Her best friend had just walked out of her life...not because she was dead or captured, but of her own design. No explanation. No real good-bye. And one all important name was now insisting it have Cindy's full attention. She gave in to its demands once she'd calmed herself considerably and dialed the familiar digits with a sorrowful sense of desperation.  
  
*******  
  
Ah, the phone. What a joy it was to be subjected to its annoyingly monotonous tone. His sanity thanked him for setting the machine to pick up after only the first ring, and he sank back into both his pillow and his depression when he realized the caller wasn't Lydecker. It sounded like a frantic Original Cindy...she'd probably just received the same warm reception he'd gotten from Max the night before. Oh well. He'd deal with her some other time. Maybe not at all. None of it mattered anymore. He felt this strange need to make sure Lydecker got out all right and knew Max's current status, but after that was through, it was all over. Eyes Only, even. Sure, he'd carry his part of the bargain and compromise Manticore should his ally fail to check in. But that would be it. It was time to pack it in. He had no reason to drag it out any further, not even a reason to protect his wealth. Max was gone. Because she wanted to be. And he couldn't handle that.  
  
It was almost strange. At least when she'd been presumed dead, there was a certainty that she cared and that she felt toward him what he felt toward her. He had thought finding her alive would lead to a realized dream, make him happier than he'd even imagined. Boy, was he wrong. He almost wished that she had really died; whatever they might have had was over either way, but it would have been a slightly positive end had it been on the battle field. They'd have parted on good terms. Now, though, he didn't even have that to go on, and he had to curse himself for being so selfish and even daring to think such things. He felt like a zombie, destined to wander aimlessly through a worthless existence, like he was undeserving of anything more. And as a result of that, the same feelings of helplessness he'd felt when he'd lost his legs for the second time were resurfacing, slowly pushing him toward a self-induced end.  
  
*******  
  
"Oh no," he groaned when his vision had righted itself. This was a cell. With an intercom and a camera. And his head hurt like hell.  
  
He last remembered taking out a young guard in the hall, only then to be confronted with blackness. Someone had obviously taken the opportunity to knock him out. Wonderful. Just wonderful. Good thing he and Logan had agreed on minimal contact...had they used coms or some other device to stay in touch, good old Eyes Only would surely be sharing this cell right now.  
  
He got to his feet, amazed and oddly pleased that they felt secure enough not to have restrained him. He scrutinized the room for anything he could use to his advantage, quickly agreeing with the level of confidence they had in his successful incarceration. He could find nothing, not even a blind spot in the camera, which was highly sensitive to motion and mirrored his every move. Check and mate. He hoped Logan had the guts to go through with the anti-Manticore hack.   
  
"Nice to see you finally back on your feet, Deck," came a cheerful female voice over the intercom. He startled at first, then scowled at the recognition.  
  
"Wish I could say the same about hearing your voice again, ELIZABETH," he spat bitterly. He cringed at her subsequent chuckle.  
  
"You always were quite the witty one," she mused. "I'd almost go so far as to say that you're who X5-452 gets it from, but in light of your failures the past 11 years that wouldn't make much sense, would it?"  
  
He ignored the insult, focusing on the more important matter. "What do you know about X5-452? Are you saying you have her alive?" She chuckled once again, louder and far more annoyingly this time.  
  
"Don't even try it, Deck. One of the wonderful things about this situation is that, as usual, I'm not obligated to tell you anything. But you, on the other hand...you've been associating with some people we're very interested in getting our hands on. X5-711, X5-701...possibly even the great Eyes Only himself. And you're in no position to deny us their locations."  
  
Truthfully, this frightened him to the core. But he had become a master at suppressing such emotions, so he reacted with a laugh. "And what if I don't know, hmm? What if I'm unable to give you those locations?"  
  
"Well," Renfro replied, "then I guess we'll just have to kill you." 


	18. Revealation Times Two

A/N: Rejoice ye faithful for I have retained my internet! Hehe, things are joyous. More importantly, though, I finally finished the wonderful chapter of 18. And goodness, is it long. Not only that, but two (maybe even three) humungoid events happen in it. Yes, that's right, events so big I had to invent the word "humungoid" to describe them. :) Anyhoozle, enjoy...  
*******  
  
  
If she had been in any less of a mental and emotional fog, she probably would have avoided her current destination. The cabin did, afterall, afford one too many bittersweet memories of Logan and Zack, the two people she'd held most dear and who would now be forever absent from her life. The fog was thick, though, and the cabin was convenient and would only be temporary. So what the hell?  
  
She roared up to the side of the porch just as the first rays of sunlight were beginning to streak across the sky and hoisted her bike up the steps, leaning it against the side of the house. She'd be damned if someone was going to steal her most prized possession; she'd be bringing it inside with her. Sure, the place was fairly secluded, but one can never be too careful.   
  
She managed to pick the lock in a matter of seconds and pushed the door open without caution, sending a blur to some far corner of the room. She started; a blanket lay haphazardly over the couch, a pillow had fallen to the floor, and a glass half-full of Logan's pre-Pulse wine sat upon the coffee table. Emotional turmoil shifted to the background, her blood running cold, her enhanced senses straining to pick up the slightest hint of another's presence. She kicked the door shut (can't leave the intruder such an easy escape, now can we?) and slowly advanced, scrutinizing every detail of the room and matching it as best she could to her memory until finally she picked up a slight inconsistency toward the back. All was silent for a brief moment as she crept toward it, but the peace was broken when an unknown leapt from his hiding place and flew forward into her stomach, taking her to the floor.  
  
*******  
  
He'd tortured plenty in the infamous chair but had never thought he might one day be strapped into it. Now, that unrealized possibility was his reality, and he felt, for the first time, some sense of guilt over having ever subjected someone to the pain he now felt.   
  
He forgot a number of times that his eye was being held open and nearly tore a hole in his eyelid. His jaw, meanwhile, felt as though it might break and the restraints, which were tightened periodically, threatened to turn his entire body numb from lack of circulation and felt as though they were rubbing the skin off of him. Still, he wouldn't talk. He'd never talk. Instead, he recalled his own lessons on selective memory loss and focused desperately on employing them.  
  
It wasn't working.  
  
Something would be gone and then a fresh bolt of pain would send it popping back into his mind again. It was nearly impossible to concentrate on such a task when enduring such torment, and he supposed he should have done it while still in his cell. It was too late now, though. It was too late to remedy all of the awful, rotten, careless mistakes he'd made the past few weeks...scratch that, the past decade. It was too late, beyond salvaging himself, beyond ever being anything but a failure...  
  
Somewhere off in the distance he heard Renfro tell the medical technician to cease operations for a moment, and he breathed deeply in relief at the laser's disappearance and the blessed silence accompanying the machine's inactivity. He managed to grin in both defiance and disgust when the blurry and barely recognizable face of the director moved into position above him.  
  
"C'mon, Deck," she coaxed. "I know you know where at least one of them is, I know you want this to stop, and I know that if we send you back out there you'll have no place to go but the streets and the run-down, pathetic excuses for shelters."  
  
The grin faded. Lydecker knew what she was suggesting and he knew that he shouldn't, but he was quickly coming to find it a quite enjoyable outcome to these proceedings. He gulped nervously when he realized she had begun to smile.  
  
"Yes, Deck. You'd like that, wouldn't you? To have your old job back? To have secure quarters on the premises? Food, warmth, money..."  
  
Oh, what a terribly tempting offer. It would be so easy to give in...but he knew better than that. She'd never keep such a promise, not if her life depended on it. She wanted him dead and he knew he wasn't going to come out of this alive unless he was able to escape. Keeping his mouth shut for the time being would bide him some time; all he really had to do was hold out until Logan aired his broadcast. IF he aired his broadcast. That was the operative word, wasn't it? If. Thousands of "what ifs" began to traipse through his mind, driving him into a slow, deliberate state of panic. What if Logan didn't go through with it? What if this was Eyes Only's way of getting rid of a possible threat? What if it was all a colossal set-up?  
  
He heard Renfro sigh heavily in aggravation then order the machine be turned back on, with heightened intensity. The tech warned that he wasn't sure Lydecker could handle it, that this might kill him, but Renfro gruffly replied that she didn't care and that should such be the outcome, so be it. How horribly a familiar conversation...  
  
~'Your concerns are noted. Proceed.'  
-'Just give me a day or two to stabilize his condition.'  
-'Maybe you don't understand what's at stake. He knows where the X-5s are. He's got it locked in his brain, but I'm gonna get it out.'  
-'You're not gonna get anything if he's dead.'  
-'I'll take that risk.' ~  
  
But it hadn't worked, had it? Zack had escaped because of another stupid mistake. Mistakes, mistakes, mistakes. Everything from the conception of Manticore had been a mistake, and now he was fairly certain that getting involved with Logan had been one, as well.  
  
He gritted his teeth and shook violently as the tech injected him with the serum, turned on the laser and sent torment coursing through him once again. His mind and loyalties wavered, and for a moment he could think only of the safety of his kids but then it was all about what was best for himself, as it had always been and he knew it would always be. Logan had been right when he'd expressed that alliances were easily broken; theirs was crumbling right now.  
  
"Alaaaaargh," he mumbled, the only semblance of a word he could manage in his current position.   
  
"Madame, I think he's trying to say something," the tech observed. Lydecker didn't hear any reply from Renfro, but relief quickly replaced the pain so he figured she had gestured to him in some way. The rubber gag was slipped from his mouth and once again his line of sight was filled with the blurry and unpleasant image of Renfro.  
  
"Is there something you want to tell me, Deck?" she prodded in that sinister and yet sugary sweet way of hers.  
  
"Ye...yeah, I..." he tried. He moved his jaw around a bit, getting accustomed to the feel of using it again.  
  
"I couldn't hear you, colonel. What was that?"  
  
He opened his mouth to speak but for a moment said nothing as the new but already painfully familiar emotion bubbled up inside of him, the one that had become all too commonplace in the last few days. It was there begging him to stop this, begging him to forsake himself in the name of Logan and the others. The nagging guilt, the annoying little angel on his shoulder. Well, screw that angel. He wanted out of this, and he wanted out of it NOW.  
  
"I...I..." he mumbled, shaking his head slightly as if to ward off his conscience. "I...I can give you Eyes Only."  
  
*******  
  
The element of surprise allowed her attacker the upper hand, and she struggled to gather herself and finally push him off of her. She flipped onto her feet then turned quickly sideways, her hair swinging into her face and blocking her view as she kicked toward him, just barely making contact with his chest. He grabbed her ankle and twisted it the wrong way, eliciting a cry of pain from deep within, then pushed her away from him, causing her nearly to trip over her own feet. He was quickly against her back and she moved to elbow him in the gut but he anticipated it and trapped her arm behind her as his own came up to wrap around her throat. She clawed his flesh with her free hand, momentarily lost in panic and unable to accurately analyze the situation; why was he so strong? As yet she hadn't caught even a glimpse of anything above his shoulders...was he another X-5? A Red, even?  
  
"It's not gonna work. You couldn't fool me before, and you certainly aren't gonna start today," he cried suddenly, his voice thick with emotion. "She's DEAD. I know it, you pounded it into my skull! So why did you think I'd fall for this, huh? How stupid do you think I am?" His arm tightened around her neck and something about this was so familiar she thought she might have finally snapped. But whatever it was she thought the voice and actions reminded her of, whatever mental state into which she thought she might be falling, it wasn't nearly as important as the fact that red splotches were starting to interrupt her vision and her lungs were begging for an increase in oxygen intake. She lifted her trapped arm then thrust it downward as quickly as she could, breaking it free and pulling it out in front of her. His arm became captive to her firm grip, her right leg slid back to rest just against the back of his, and in one quick motion she spun on her toes and bowed into his arm, sending him backward to the floor. She dropped beside him, her knee landing precariously under his chin as she moved into the position of control.  
  
Brown eyes locked with blue at that moment, and fear permeated the senses of both of them. Max pulled away rapidly, backing up until she ran into the couch, her eyes so pained and afraid that it made him ache. Slight tremors swept through her body as she pulled her legs to her chest and pretended this wasn't happening.   
  
"No...you're dead."  
  
They said it at the same time, each realizing even as the words slipped past their lips that it wasn't so, that they must have been lied to. The bitch had lied...and they should have expected that but apparently shock and emotion had gotten in the way of logic.   
  
He began to move toward her, cautiously, as if he were sneaking up on a timid cat. He chuckled inwardly when it occurred to him just how true that analogy actually was. She, on the other hand, kept trying to back away, pushing against the couch with such force that it moved backward about half a foot. When he reached forward to touch her face, to see if she were real, she closed her eyes and tried to pull away, afraid that this was a cruel dream and any attempted physical contact would wake her from it. But his fingertips lightly dragged down her cheek anyway, and he actually smiled for the first time since...since...well, it had been a long time, that was for sure.  
  
"It's...it's really you, isn't it Maxie?" he whispered. Bravely, she turned her head and looked at him, nodding as they both began to cry. Then they were embracing, tightly enough to injure a normal person, and pain soon melted into a sorrowful sort of joy.  
  
"Zack," she gasped through her tears, "oh my god, Zack." He buried his face in her curls, and all she could think as they held each other was that she'd never seen her big brother display his emotions so openly before.  
  
*******  
  
"What is his connection to the X-5s?" Renfro inquired. He feigned ignorance and ate the back of a guard's hand as punishment. "He always seems to show up when he have problems with them, Deck. And he always interferes when we're about to bring them in. I know that can't possibly be just a coincidence but what I don't know are the specifics of his individual relationships with them. I need those specifics, Deck. I can use them. And perhaps you weren't aware of it when you so generously offered to turn in your former ally, but the way this goes is that the more information you give me, the longer I let you live." To illustrate her point, the same guard who'd slapped him cocked his pistol and held it to Lydecker's temple. "So I'll ask you again...what is this 'Logan Cale's' connection to the rogue X-5s?"  
  
//Be smart about this// his inner voice instructed. But who was he kidding? He'd already damned himself by identifying Eyes Only...at this point, as Renfro had explained, it was either give her all she wanted or die. Sure, he realized that he'd probably die regardless, but the whole point of this had been to extend his life span in the event that Logan didn't come through on his end of the mission and give himself some time to devise a plan of escape. So far, that was working nicely, and he wasn't about to let his newfound conscience get in the way.  
  
"He and Max...er...X5-452; they were good friends, and I'm fairly certain it was beginning to develop into something more."  
  
Renfro smiled as a multitude of new ideas began flowing through her mind. "And they were aware of each other's true identities?" she pried, her smile widening and her mind squealing with joy when he nodded. "You have NO idea how much I appreciate this, Deck." Then, to the guards, "take him back to his cell. He may still be of use to me."  
  
//And the extension stands// he thought to himself as he was pushed and dragged through the corridors. Despite his best efforts, though, the pesky demon of remorse was beginning to gnaw at him again. Logan had trusted him. Well, perhaps "trusted" was going a little too far. But this betrayal was still a deep and possibly dangerous one should he ever manage to break out of this veritable prison, and beyond that, something inside of him knew that it was wrong. Eyes Only had never done anything but try and protect the rogues. He'd never done anything but try and protect Max. He didn't deserve what was sure to be coming to him...but oh well. It was too late now, and to comfort himself he dwelled on the fact that at least he hadn't given away the location of one of his kids.  
  
Or so was his personal thought. Renfro had another, and the plan had already formulated itself by the time she'd reached her office. X5-452 was in league with Eyes Only. Moreover, the two of them had built a strong relationship and supposedly cared a great deal for one another. She could have gone to him upon her escape, but Renfro was willing to bet that her little golden girl now considered herself a threat to his safety and had left him behind. Either way...  
  
"Um...excuse me, ma'am," a timid young guard suddenly called meekly from the doorway. She turned to him and nodded, a signal that it was all right for him to speak. "Should a team of soldiers be deployed now?"  
  
"No, no. Not yet," replied she.  
  
"But...with all due respect, ma'am, we've only a day before Eyes Only exposes the operation."  
  
"I know," she said pointedly as she basked in the self-described brilliance of her plan, "and we're going to use that against him." 


	19. Paint My Brown Eyes Blue

A/N: Updates, they be cool. Now this seems kinda M/Zish but it's not. Note how I make it very clear that they are brother and sister, heh. I'm sorry, I tried to give the whole romantic thing a chance but red flags keep going up and this little conservative dude in the back of my head keeps screaming "INCEST! INCEST!" Not much I can do about it...  
*******  
  
  
  
They spent long hours just sitting on the couch, talking about everything and nothing all at once. She once again was drawn to the fact that she'd never seen him so open and happy before, never seen him shed his steely resolve so completely. It was a dramatic change, and a welcome one at that.   
  
As the day wore on and the bottle of wine was slowly emptied, the conversation slowly edged toward the subject around which they were both desperately tiptoeing. Sure, they each wanted to know what truly had happened to the other, but the relaxed and happy mood they presently shared was so rare and cherished that they dreaded the moment it had to end. Still, their precarious position was obvious and it was plain to both of them that their relationship would soon have to turn serious, their acquaintance simply that of two fellow fugitives rather than that of a favorite brother and sister. Always having been the harder and more professional of the two, Zack was the first to fully acknowledge and act on this.  
  
"Look, Max," he said, setting down his glass. She sighed heavily at his tone, the knowledge of the discussion he was initiating sending her glee to hide behind its emotional barrier. "This has...well, this was nice, but we both know that, dreary as they are, there are things that really need to be said and others that, given our situation, really need to be done."  
  
"I know, Zack. I understand," Max whispered with a nod. When he uttered nothing in reply, she lifted her gaze to watch him awkwardly open and close his mouth, terribly uncertain how and where to begin. While words and emotion had poured freely from him moments before, he had retreated back into his shell and now, when confronted with such an emotionally taxing topic, he was confused and having great difficulty finding his voice. Max, quickly picking up on this, took a deep breath and reached over to hold his hand as she, bravely, began her side of the story.  
  
"I woke up tied down...it was a cell, but it looked and felt eerily like a hospital room. The director appeared; didn't know she was the director then, but yeah. She came and she told me not to struggle, cuz I might 'break a stitch.'" She said the last part mockingly and wrinkled her nose in disgust, happy when she noticed Zack smile ever so slightly. "So I was like, 'where am I' and she said she thought I knew, and she walked over to the monitor, and...all this crap about I should feel proud...the heart of a martyr..." She swallowed hard and closed her eyes and willed herself to go on. "She told me you'd killed yourself, Zack. For me. She told me it was your heart keeping me alive." Max lowered her head and fought back the tears, surprised but pleased when her brother squeezed her hand in comfort. It was somewhat an instinctual reaction that he hadn't even thought about, but when he saw Max better collect herself immediately after he was glad he'd done it. He was not glad, however, with the manner in which he'd have to tell her his tale. He had actually been planning to keep from her the entire truth, the fact that he HAD attempted suicide in her name, to spare both her and himself from having to deal any longer than was needed with all these annoying feelings of theirs. Now, though, he felt like he owed it to her to divulge everything.   
  
"I..." he started, "I...unfortunately, Max, that came very close to being the truth."  
  
She looked at him almost accusingly and he hated how he felt. He hated how he had felt at that moment two weeks ago, how he had almost given in to one of the things he had been fighting for all these years. He suddenly felt like crying but he had realized since last he'd wept that seeing him in such a position wasn't good for Max, so he stifled it. He was unable, though, to hide his emotion when he continued.  
  
"I panicked," he squeaked with desperation. "I saw you lying there and I knew what they'd do, how they'd tear you apart and be able to treat you in death like the machine they couldn't make you in life. And it was like it wasn't me, like I was possessed or something. I couldn't let them do that to you, Maxie, and suddenly being rational didn't seem rational at all. I told you to fight and then the gun was pointed to my head and I was the one pointing it and that bitch, that blonde bitch was staring at me and she was so shocked and scared it wasn't just about you anymore, I wanted to pay her back. Oh, she'd be so sorry. So sorry..." He was speaking rapidly and without direction, and to Max it seemed almost more like an attempt at expressing the atmosphere of an intense nightmare rather than the relation of actual events. Beyond that, he had become enraptured; dangerously passionate and Max had to break her hand from his iron grip. "But...but when I pulled the trigger, I didn't feel the pressure at my temple. It was at the back of my head, the base of my skull. I knew immediately something had gone wrong but everything went black so it's not like I could do anything. And then I woke up, and I remember thinking that I shouldn't be here and that, since I was, I had failed. I had failed and failures don't make it in this world. It didn't help that SHE found it her duty to come to me and rub in that fact, telling me they'd knocked me out before I could sacrifice myself." He had calmed down by this point and Max had slid closer. When he finished, his breath was unsteady, his words disjointed and he had to swallow the painful lump in his throat more times than he could count. "Dead...she's dead...and it's all my fault...and that's what she kept telling me...and they were gonna find them...the others...they were gonna break me...but no, cuz I wasn't gonna fail again...not twice...my baby sister..."  
  
Max slipped her arm around his shoulder and tried, non-verbally, to let him know that it was all right for him to cry again. But the tears never came, and after a minute or two of steadying himself he pushed her away and, in dejection, she let him begin to go over the route they'd take to Canada.  
  
*******  
  
Self-induced ends are that much more difficult to achieve when you've mixed yourself up with a band of fugitive military types who have built a strange sort of dependence upon you.  
  
Logan paced back and forth in front of the phone, impatient and quickly running out of emotional steam. He'd spent the day mostly loafing around, hardly bothering to eat and certainly not daring to venture out-of-doors. Max of course was still bouncing off the walls of his mind, urging him to end it all. Lydecker had joined her a few hours ago, whispering that he'd been caught and that now Logan had to do his duty or everything was going to be royally screwed over. The great Eyes Only was losing it, slipping away to be overrun by depression, fear, and worry, and to top it off it was 3:00 in the morning and his "brave" ally still had not checked in.  
  
Finally he couldn't stand it and moved to his little studio, opting to record the damn broadcast and get it over with rather than deliver it live. You know, in case he drove himself a little too crazy and the suicide attempt he was already planning was closer to now than expected. He timed it for release at 12:30, figuring that, being lunchtime, that was when the most people were likely to see it. As satisfied as a man contemplating the taking of his own life could be, he finally retired to his room after a long day of nothing, rolling his eyes as Cindy called for the umpteenth time.  
  
*******  
  
They had traveled most of the night on Max's Ninja, stopping for rest in a run-down and abandoned shack in which Zack had once before taken lodging. It wasn't exactly a five-star hotel, which Max pointed out with a wry comment about it being straight out of 'The Grapes of Wrath,' to Zack's immediate confusion. She explained that it was an old movie she'd watched at Logan's one time, and at the mention of his unspoken rival Zack grumbled and turned away from her, ending the conversation before she could fully explain the reference.  
  
As they readied to move out around 10:30 that morning, Zack suggested that they alter their appearance for added protection...hair dye and colored contacts would do.   
  
"Oh, c'mon Zack," Max protested with a chuckle. "Our faces will still be the same, our bodies will still be the same. Doesn't really do much."  
  
"Well, what do you want us to do? Go all out and get plastic surgery?" he snapped. "At least this way, their descriptions of us will never be accurate enough for a norm to find us out."  
  
Silently admitting that his point was a valid one, she shut up at that and allowed him to hide her in the shadows as he employed his genetically enhanced pick-pocketing skills (sure, they could steal the wanted goods, but it was far easier to catch a shop-lifter than a pick-pocket and any option that might draw extra attention to them was out of the question). They took to a local drug store soon after, each purchasing their choices separately, making the task of drawing a connection between the two of them even harder than it already was. They also went to separate bathrooms in separate buildings to complete their alterations, and any human interaction afforded them the chance to practice their newly acquired aliases, Kris and Jim. It would take some time to get used to them, but eventually it would be as if Max and Zack had never existed, right?  
  
Max...erm...KRIS wasn't so sure. She looked into the mirror above the freshly stained porcelain, her blue eyes catching the light and her red hair dripping crimson water down her back and front, soaking through to her skin. The reflection frightened her and she realized then that leaving Seattle wasn't just traumatic because it meant losing everything and everyone she loved, but also because it meant losing her identity.   
  
She tried to be like Za...Jim and push everything down but the words were mangled with emotion when she whispered them to herself.  
  
"New hair, new eyes, new name. It's like a whole new me."  
  
  
*******  
A/N: Did ya catch the real-life JA reference thingy? Did ya? DID YA?! *insane giggling* 


	20. Pivot

A/N: Two new chapters in the course of 3 days? Merry Belated Christmas to you, ha.  
  
This is another long one. It also, once again, has a hell of a lot going on in it...I'll give you three guesses as to why I named it "Pivot", hehe.  
  
Oh! And there's semi-autobiographicalness too, HA. Note the third paragraph...that's not really Logan, that's me. It was like 1:00 at night when I wrote the first part of this, you see, and I was doing very strange things like trying to surf on a wheeled footstool...  
  
Anyway, my personal opinion is that this chapter is a lot of fun. Hopefully that'll be yours too...  
*******  
  
  
Oh gee, how wonderful. Seemed he now also had to suffer from insomnia.  
  
The darkness of his room filled with sunlight at a painstakingly slow pace, and finally, as 9:00 a.m. rolled around it become clear to him that any attempts to sleep during this night...er, day...were futile. He pulled himself out of bed and began to reach for the exoskeleton, then decided he was in too much of a fog to bother with it and that, since he wasn't planning on leaving the house anyway, it wasn't worth the hassle. He went with the chair, feeling strangely more comfortable in it than he ever had before as he rolled himself out into the kitchen and made some coffee.  
  
The caffeine quickly began working its magic on his overtired body while, despite his obviously sullen mood, his sleep-deprived senses demanded that he giggle like a lunatic at stupid things. Like the banana magnet on his refrigerator. Tee hee!  
  
The goofiness swiftly vanished, though, and as he moved over to the window he could find not even a semblance of joy in the view. He could only detect the rotten and the mundane, and when he saw something that another might smile upon he frowned and focused on its negative aspects. There were children giddily playing ball in the street...but they were dressed in dirty, second-hand clothes and obviously ravaged by poverty. There were suits with briefcases going to work at jobs that, to them, were terribly important and probably paid a great deal of money...but as they walked or rode they passed the begging congregations of the jobless and the homeless, and the shabbily dressed common laborers, and didn't dare offer a cent or so much as a friendly smile. The world was a cruel and foreboding place without much in the way of happiness or hope, and suddenly he found himself wondering why he'd ever thought he could do anything about it.   
  
He was about to pull away and sulk elsewhere when he noticed the two white vans parked in the alley between his and the next building. His eyes were then drawn to the corner of each of the two buildings, where there stood two men in rather puffy clothing who appeared almost to be on guard. He also took note of the band of roofers setting up on the roof below and climbing up onto his own. Something seemed very odd about this picture, and his naturally inquisitive mind sent bolts of curiosity and a need for explanation coursing through him, but he dismissed it and managed to convince himself that he was making the proverbial mountain out of a molehill. Hanging around Max for so long had just made him paranoid, that's all.  
  
As he passed the phone on the way to deposit his coffee mug in the sink, the appliance began ringing yet again and briefly he was jolted with hope and anticipation, praying to every god ever worshipped by man that it was Lydecker. It was not; Max's dear, sweet best friend apparently had difficulty taking the hint that he didn't wish to speak with her, and frankly he was sick of hearing her voice. He reached over and briefly picked up the receiver then dropped it, severing the connection.  
  
On the opposite end, something snapped inside Original Cindy's brain and it at last occurred to her who Max had been speaking of when she'd mentioned ending "one relationship on a bad note." She smacked herself in the forehead, wondering why in the hell it had taken her so long to figure out something so blatantly obvious, and, fearing something unpleasant was up with Mr. Heartbreaker, resolved to head over to Foggle Towers on her lunch break. Yeah, seemed he'd screwed her boo but good, but she wasn't about to let the poor guy defenestrate himself.  
  
*******  
  
They'd arrived at 0600 hours and presently it was nearing 1230. Hadn't exactly been the most exciting 390 minutes of their lives; hell, they'd spent 210 of those in roughly the same position, waiting for something that even their superiors were unable to describe. They had a general idea of what to expect, but mostly this was guesswork and such was a tad on the annoying side. Still, these were the orders and they were soldiers and a good soldier always obeys orders, as Rossario constantly had to remind his colleagues.  
  
"Have you forgotten mission perameters, Laney? She's not there, so we have to wait for the broadcast to begin."  
  
"I'm aware of that," Laney replied. "It just seems like it would be easier to take him in his current state. He's off his guard, he won't have time to react."  
  
"Do you want your heard blown off?" Rossario whispered gruffly. "Look, these two have got something going on. We do this right, he becomes bait. Now why don't you take this opportunity to start acting like a soldier and submit to the frickin' directive?"  
  
Harris cleared his throat at this and the two arguing men ceased their activity and turned to look at him. He gestured into the penthouse with his hand, softly asking his fellows to check out the computer. It had booted up on its own and was currently loading a program and preparing for its launch. Rossario chuckled to himself.  
  
"Ah, so he's got it timed, huh? This is it, gentlemen. Time to prove yourselves and evade decommission."  
  
*******  
  
If there was one thing that hanging around with a genetically engineered fugitive super soldier had taught her, it was to always take seriously that which came across as suspicious. What was currently registering as such for her probably wouldn't even have been worthy of a second glance six months ago, but she had seen well over her share of the strange and terrible since Max had revealed her identity and so it bothered her immensely.  
  
There were three roofers crowded around the skylight of Logan's apartment and another two hanging around the edge of his roof, looking as though they were waiting for something. She lowered her gaze and found a single on the roof below, and she was filled with panic when he signaled to those above, signaled with his hands in a way she'd only seen Max use before. Suddenly her legs had increased their motion and she was thankful for the slight sensation of cold metal rubbing against her ankle, serving as a reminder that she had the means to do some serious damage in the event of a physical emergency. She felt now like she was solely responsible for Logan's safety; in the bleak residue of a once grand and powerful world that was post-Pulse America, people had taken the term "turn the other cheek" a little too seriously, and Cindy knew that even if the supposed roofers started shooting wildly and without direction at Logan's penthouse, the average passer-by probably wouldn't consider it anything more than brief entertainment. As for the cops, heh. They could be bought and sold as easily as black market marijuana, and there was little doubt in her mind that they'd already been silenced if these people were truly up to no good.  
  
Her eyes remained primarily upon the roofers, watching for anything out of the ordinary as she prayed that she wouldn't arrive too late. She pulled her vision back down to ground level as she neared the door of the lobby, though, the height of the building finally managing to obstruct her view. Fear traced painful patterns down her spine when her eyes met those of a man dressed in oddly puffy clothing standing at the building's corner. She knew she was right at that moment and she knew that her time was running out so she broke into a run, a frantic run, and he did as well and she reached for the door and begged silently for someone, ANYONE to notice and to care for once in their pathetic lives but then she was intercepted by the man and pulled tightly against him, his gun pushing discretely into her belly, and she hated all who walked by for their goddamned apathy.   
  
"Where you goin'?" he whispered. She wriggled against him slightly, realizing that his clothing appeared puffy due to a bullet-proof vest, then heard him cock back the gun in a silent demand for her to remain still and she gulped loudly.  
  
"I, uh..."  
  
"Don't know, huh? No worries; I'll provide you with a destination." With that, she was pulled roughly around the corner and into the open arms of another man dressed in much the same fashion. "Tie 'er up," her original captor ordered, "I think she may be trouble." The next instant found her being shoved into a white van and for the first time in a long while she guiltily found herself wishing she'd never met Max or Logan.  
  
*******  
  
"Now?" Laney whined impatiently. They were so close to letting everything be ruined...why weren't they operating?  
  
"Hold on," Rossario commanded, raising his hand to silence his companion. "This has got to be just right. Enough must play to grab attention, but not so much that we're compromised."  
  
"I should certainly hope not," quipped Laney bitterly. Harris rolled his eyes and Rossario cast Laney a warning glance.  
  
"Wait for it," he instructed, over-annunciating and drawing out every word as he tried to quell Laney's apparent affection for insubordinance. "Wait for it...okay...ready...NOW!"  
  
*******  
  
It was around 12:30 when Max and Zack, or Kris and Jim, moved into the diner to get a bite to eat. She took to twirling her newly dyed hair in her fingers, examining it in the light and trying without avail to get used to it, while he tried to hide the fact that every time he saw his now black hair and brown eyes in a reflective surface he was somewhat startled and almost regretted his decision. It was working, for his sister envied how he seemed so quickly to take to his new identity and wished she could feel as collected as he appeared.  
  
As they softly ordered their food and sipped the small cups of water the waitress had given them, the attention of the room suddenly shifted wholly to the television in the corner, and when someone shouted "check it out, it's Eyes Only" the attentions of the two fugitives joined them.  
  
She tried not to, but she felt proud. She felt proud that she had helped him all those times and proud that he still had the will to go on even after their massive falling out on the Space Needle. And then, of course, she felt the familiar sorrow of knowing she'd never get to tell him how proud she was and how she forgave him for what he'd said and she cared for him more than even she herself could tell. She'd never get to see him again, she'd never get to have what they could have had if everything had gone according to plan that fateful night, but at least he'd be safe and he'd still have Eyes Only. At least she'd no longer be a threat to his existence.  
  
And then it was gone. His pixilated eyes, his distorted voice, they were gone, vanishing in mid-sentence. The hush that filled the room at that moment pounded in her brain and she felt the cup slip through her fingers to the floor, spilling what remained of its contents over her shoe.  
  
*******  
  
He knew it probably wasn't going to work, but he was tired beyond belief and emotionally drained to the point of nearing a breakdown, so he once again settled back into his pillow and tried to sleep. He told the taunting face of Max to leave him be and the warnings of Lydecker that he knew and had taken care of it and that everything was going to be all right. The subject of his focus became the dark red innards of his eyelids and he tried to make himself fade away into that darkness, fade into oblivion where nothing could harm him any longer. Deep, deliberate breaths, stillness and peace, whether or not it was only imagined.   
  
He felt himself beginning to drift off when it struck him. His eyes flashed open and the events of a few months ago returned to him. After his near suicide and the incident with Mrs. Moreno, he had decided to have his ceiling fixed up and, after that, his entire roof. Apparently this gave the rest of his fellow tenants somewhat of an incentive, for by the time the repairmen and roofers had finished they'd done the entire building. There was no possible way that any roof on any portion of the building was so badly damaged again in such a short amount of time that more repair work was needed, and thusly there was no need for the roofers he'd seen earlier.  
  
As if on cue, two of those "roofers" burst through his window into his room as these thoughts passed through his mind, and he could hear not only the crashing of his skylight but the disabling of his broadcast down the hall. He hardly had time to prop himself up on his elbows before another three joined those already at his side. On instinct, he reached over to his bedside table for the gun he'd left in the top drawer but stopped short when one of the men commanded him to freeze and five guns suddenly shared him as a target.  
  
"Hey, check this thing out," one of the men said, gesturing toward the exoskeleton. The others looked to Logan for an explanation and he had no choice but to give it to them. Sadistically, the apparent leader of the group smiled and ordered the device dismantled and destroyed.  
  
"Wait," Logan said bravely, his heart threatening to burst from his chest even as the words left his lips, "what would be the point of doing that?"  
  
"Partially as a warning, partially to ensure that none of your operatives can benefit from its use." He nodded his head and Logan found himself wincing and whimpering as his only attainable ticket to independence and a sense of normality was ripped apart and crushed before his eyes. The chasm of his depression widened and he almost hoped that they'd shoot him right then and get it over with.  
  
As this destruction of both machine and confidence ensued, the leader received transmission on his com and turned briefly away from the group, then looked to Logan and retained once again that unpleasant and sadistic smile.  
  
"Seems we've pulled in one of your operative, or at least someone who appears to be...she did say she was coming to see you and that she feared for your life. Black girl, with a Jam Pony Messenger Service pass."  
  
Suddenly he was filled to the brim and prickling with fear, not for himself but for the captured operative that wasn't truly his operative at all. Original Cindy...god, why did she have to feel such a dire need to speak with him? He swallowed hard and noticeably, and the leader took this as a sign that she was, indeed, working for him.  
  
"Ah, good," he said. "Now, it's going to be a little hard to remove you forcefully without people taking notice, and our orders are to bring you in alive, so here's the deal: you hop in your little wheelchair and leave the building with us as if we're just some of your buddies, or you've got one less informant."  
  
Another hard swallow, and he longed to be a turtle, to be able to retract into his shell and hide. His immediate thought was that he should again reach for his gun and try to fight them; screw Cindy, they needed him alive so they wouldn't dare shoot to kill and he might actually run the chance of saving himself. But he couldn't just let her die, he couldn't sit back at the moment of truth and silently proclaim himself more important than those he had fought so hard for so long to protect. He'd never be able to live it down, and not a day would pass when he wouldn't wish that she were alive and able to grace him with another of her tedious phone calls. He weighed the options and wanted to do the right thing but for some reason he remained silent. The soldier clicked his tongue and heaved a disappointed sigh.  
  
"Very well," he drawled. "Alby, fire at will." And then Logan was burning, the heat searing his stomach and his throat and finally he found his voice.  
  
"NO!" All eyes were on him as he sucked in a defeated breath and submitted to their demands. "I'll go...I'll go. Just don't kill her." The soldier chuckled.   
  
"Cancel that. Seems our good friend Eyes Only's changed his mind. Why not let 'er know her stay on this fair planet's been extended? Might cheer her up some...over and out."  
  
Then he was being hoisted into his chair and consumed with regret but relief and all manner of confused emotions. He wanted to believe he'd done something good but the gallows was now seeming closer than ever and the end for all of them, not just for himself and Lydecker but for Cindy and the operatives of the Informant Net and Max and even the still undisclosed X-5s appeared eminent, breathing down his neck like the soldiers wheeling him out of the building. 


	21. The Soldier and the Cruelty

A/N: Hey, it's an update! Finally! Heh. Sorry it's been so long...but, alas, mid terms + studying colleges + internship + writer's block = a potato who is unable to write. Yes, I have been extremely busy, and I've been stuck for...well, far too long. Do you guys realize that I started this in June of last year, like two weeks after AJBAC? I mean, I had the general idea of what I wanted to do, but I never imagined it would take me this long or get so big, heh. In any case, I think there's about 9 chapters left after this one, 10 or 11 at most. Knowing me I'll probably somehow manage to turn that into another 20...but yeah, I'm gonna quit my rambling now and get on with it.  
*******  
  
  
  
Immediately, he had canceled their orders and dragged his gaping sister from the diner, ordering that they move out at once. He wasn't an idiot; he knew what the disappearance of the broadcase had to mean, he knew that she must surely still harbor the feelings he had tried so hard to eradicate from her, and he knew that, given the chance, she was likely to fall back into her old habits and try to drag him on a suicide mission. It was to his benefit to get them as far away as possible as quickly as possible, so that when she did finally snap out of her shock and begin to clearly process things even she would realize that it was too late, that there was nothing either of them could do. He could even put on an air of pity and sympathy if it suited the situation, and though he felt guilty from just thinking about emotionally deceiving her like that, at least she'd be alive. At least all that had gone on the past few weeks would not be in vain.  
  
He led her to where the Ninja was hidden and started to climb on, even with a weak protest from her that it was her bike and that, therefore, she should be the one to drive. He told her that she was currently too distracted to handle it, and at her reply and huff of pent-up frustration greatly regretted it.  
  
"How can I NOT be distracted? How can you blame me, after...after all that's happened." She folded her arms protectively across her chest and turned her back to him as she began to pace, haunting images of all manner of horrid things happening to Logan beginning to come in quick flashes as her mind cleared of the fog into which she'd been so recently sent. She felt as if she'd been injured badly enough to incur temporary paralysis, and now that sensation was returning she wished it would go away again so she wouldn't have to experience the excrutiating pain that held captive all of her limbs. She wanted to forget about she'd seen, she wanted to forget Logan altogether...but, concentrate as she might, guilt and fear persisted and this time she had no martyr which to refer to convince herself that they were unfounded because her beloved elder brother was alive. He was alive and he hadn't changed and she couldn't remember why she, herself, had wanted to.  
  
"Something's wrong," she whispered, keeping her back to him. He heard, but barely, and had to step closer to her. "An unstoppable untraceable hack doesn't just randomly cut. We gotta..."  
  
"We gotta what?" he exploded. He was losing her again, he could feel it...sand is fine and sifts through open fingers...he had to cup his palm quickly or he'd be back to square one. "We gotta go back? We gotta save him once again from yet another stupid situation he's gotten himself into?" He moved ever closer, until he was right behind her, so close he could see the nervous rise and fall of her chest and sense the breathing patterns of a conflicted one. He didn't like what this was doing to her; he didn't like what he was having to do, how he always had to get so angry and forceful with her. But she'd thank him someday. He was saving her, from Manticore and from herself. And the only way he knew how to do that was to be hard and soldierly and even a little cruel, so that's how he acted. "We can't do that," he whispered harshly, and then decided to put their new aliases into practice, to strengthen the approach. "We can't do that, KRIS. He is no longer our responsibility."  
  
Something in the way he said her new name made her want to slap him, but she didn't have the strength or the will to move. She opted instead to strike back with her words. "Maybe he's not yours, ZACK, but..."  
  
"It's Jim, remember?" he interrupted quickly, anticipating what she was trying to do. "And I don't wanna hear it, Kris." This time he said it so casually it almost frightened her, and made her arms tighten reflexively around herself. "I don't wanna hear it. We're doing the smart thing by leaving, and he should have done the smart thing for himself and quit his stupid crusade but he didn't. Now he's paying the price for it and it's not my fault or your fault so what I want you to do is let him go."  
  
She opened her mouth to reply, to argue against him, but nothing came out. She couldn't think, she couldn't see. She knew he was wrong but she didn't know why, or maybe she just so desperately wanted to believe that he was right that she convinced herself she was simply being an idiot. Going back meant more fighting and more hiding and more pain. But wouldn't it be like that anywhere? Wouldn't it always be the same? Different people, different places, but always the same sticky situations. They were SPECIAL, she and Zack. They were so fucking special. And when you're that special you're too good to have a normal life and to be free of pain, even for a moment.  
  
She turned abruptly and walked rapidly back to the motorcycle, roughly bumping into his shoulder as she passedhim. Depression was enveloping her, swift and powerful, so from deep within she removed the familiar mask of anger and bad attitude and clasped it firmly around her outer being, taking the reconstruction of her exterior shell, which had begun the moment Renfro had told her Zack was dead, one step closer to completion. She tapped her foot anxiously as she waited for him to join her and take the coveted driver's position, stuffing everything down so hard, cramming it so tightly in the pit of her stomach that she thought she might burst, and finally, right before she climbed on behind him, she did.  
  
"No," she stated firmly. He looked to her with utter surprise; he had sincerely thought he'd won for once. "I can't do this. I can't stand it. I...I have to go back." She attempted to commandeer the bike from him but he shoved back with more force, not enough to upset her balance but more than enough to catch her off guard. He climbed from the bike and stood facing her, arching out his arms slightly to block her path. He had no intention of physically hurting her, that was the last thing he ever wanted to do; yes, they'd fought those few times at the cabin but he was positive he could keep himself in check this time, and all he wanted was to look intimidating.  
  
"Again, Kris? AGAIN?! God dammit, when are you ever gonna learn?" That's it...she really had no idea how much longer she could keep herself from once again kicking his ass.  
  
"My name is Max," she barked acidly, "and I don't know, Zack. Maybe when you learn there's more to life than being a good little steeled-up soldier forever on the run!"  
  
He finally lost his resolve and took to using her real name again, not actually feeling comfortable with their fresh identities, anyway. "I don't deny that, Max...but as long as they're after us, it's the only way we can afford to live." She couldn't believe it, it was possible she didn't want to, but she actually saw genuine fear and sorrow in his eyes. Not like that which he'd displayed at their reunion, for her, but for himself, for want of a better hand than he'd been dealt. Her demeanor softened as realization came to her and she shook her head sadly...he'd always made himself appear to be the strongest, but instead he was weeping. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth when the edge of her attitude begged for an eye-roll or anything of the sort with which to brush away the extreme corniness of such a thought, but it wasn't appropriate right now so she tucked it silently away for later use. She may be feeling less angry, but she still had an argument to win and it was possible that Logan's life depended upon it.  
  
"The thing is, they're never gonna stop, Zack. No matter what we do." She was professional, and he was all ears. "And I'm starting to think...no, ya know what? I always known it. There's no point in being free if we don't get to enjoy it every once in a while. Yeah, bad things are always bound to happen...but it's like with Tinga, at least she had that time to be happy. At least she got something more outta life before they took it away." She searched his eyes to gauge his reaction, rushing her little speech when she found him to be hardening again. "Ya see...the deal of it is, we're more. We can be so much more, but...but look at what...I mean...you are what you're supposed to be. And you beat them when you stop that. They..." She paused to take a much needed deep breath, and to close her eyes momentarily. "They wanted us like this. They wanted us always afraid and always doing like they taught us. I...I love you half to death, Zack, but you never became anything than what they raised you as."  
  
He turned and clawed at his own face to give his hands something to do, trying with desperation to quell his violent temper but finding it unbareably difficult. She didn't know what she was talking about, it was that simple. He was right and she was wrong, but the fact that it might actually be the other way around scared him and made him wild with rage.  
  
"I...it's because I...I'm SAFER this way!" He faced her again, his face turning a rather unpleasant shade of tomato. He was mad, but Max straightened her back and spread her feet apart to ready herself should things get out of hand, and remained steady and undaunted. He, meanwhile, grappled for a retort and found himself stumbling over his words.  
  
"You're...you're in trouble CONSTANTLY! For...for your stupid little friends...your...people who don't even really know you! For him! With his stupid arrogant...THING about saving the world! Ya never see me like that, NEVER. Only reason I'm ever in trouble is cuz I have to save your ass so much! And...argh...god, LISTEN TO YOU! Spewing bullshit about love...it's..."  
  
"It's fake, right? It's weak?" Bubbling through her the anger was resurfacing, the remaining semblance of any positive emotion directed toward him telling her that what she was about to say was wrong. Oh, she knew perfectly well that it was wrong...but she had to do what she had to do. It was time, once again, to bring out the soldier and the cruelty. He'd thank her someday. "Well, don't talk to me about being weak. You nearly blew your brains out for me." With that, she moved easily pasthim and climbed on to her baby, leaving him completely crestfallen and bleeding from emotional agony.  
  
  
  
*******  
A/N: I don't blame you if you're mad at Max, heh...but, considering the way Zack is, I figured striking him like that was the only way to convince him to let her go and to help her out. In any case...I'm excited that I finally got to write that line, because I've been planning it since chapter 1, lol. 


	22. A Boo Best be Takin' Pride

In an alley next to Foggle Towers there lay a neatly folded wheelchair, surrounded by garbage that hadn't quite made it to the dumpster and the cardboard boxes and styrofoam peanuts of packages labeled "fragile." Its owner sat immobile against the wall of the inside of a van, his legs not only rendered useless by paralysis but also by the rope holding together his ankles, which had been pulled uncomfortably to rest just below his sharply bound wrists. Across from him was Original Cindy, bound in the same way and moving her hands around seemingly in an effort to find a position of comfort. To his right, against the seatback and partition, was an armed soldier, no longer hiding behind the guise of a roofer. To the left, his back to the door, another soldier, flipping his gun from hand to hand to ward off apparent boredom. Things could not possibly appear more dire.  
  
He let his head fall back against the wall, his eyes falling shut and a tinny bang coinciding with a sigh of despair. It was no secret how they'd found him; Lydecker had no doubt found himself in a precarious position and gone the route of betrayal to save his own skin. Not like it wasn't expected; Logan had, indeed, expressed concern over the strength of their alliance, because he knew the man and he knew it was risky ever to get involved with him. But if this were a trap, it wouldn't have mattered, would it? Trust was less the issue here than was his own carelessness, his own stupidity. His own big mouth. He almost couldn't wait until they reached Manticore and his fate was sealed. The gallows was clear, but this time he looked to it not with trepidation, but with relief.  
  
Regret and other such unpleasant emotions had somehow been pushed to the background for Cindy, though, who presently was in need of all concentration possible. There was anxiety, yes, but the trick was not to show it, not even acknowledge it. Some said killers could smell fear...you can't small what's turned and trapped inward.  
  
//Ugh, if I could jus'...c'mon, girl. C'mon, c'mon// she coaxed silently. //Jus' a little more...there.// Through her pants she clasped the handle of her knife, her wrist now strained so hard against the rope that it threatened to cut off the circulation. It didn't help that she had absent-mindedly secured the weapon in her left sock, a distinct bane to a right-handed individual. Still, it was coming, though painstakingly slow, and, confident that she had the action under control, she allotted a bit of attention to the task of alerting Logan somehow to the directive she was aiming to accomplish. Striking eye contact, a nod or two, piece of cake.   
  
He responded with confusion, though, for no sooner had she met his gaze than her eyes had closed and her nose had wrinkled slightly, giving her the appearance of one afflicted with sudden nausea. He chalked it up to car sickness, but in reality the knife had presently been prematurely stained with blood, and her teeth were gritted and her muscles were tightened to the brink of bursting and she momentarily forgot to breathe, perhaps even forgot how. She took a second or two to curse herself in thought after the initial wave of pain subsided, then with an awareness of laughable contradiction praised herself for having so expertly bit back and disguised the pain. She knew she was tough, but right now she was surprising herself, and she felt damn proud.  
  
A minute or two later the blade was freed from its makeshift sheath and turned toward her as she passed it to her strong hand. The faces of the soldiers were studied briefly. Each was too bored and certain of the success of the operation to be taking any stock in her slow, decisive hand movements. So the work was continued, cautiously but with secure sureness of victory. The strip of rope connecting her hands to her feet was sliced, glee working its way through her system as she pressed the edge to the final strand...and then she stopped. She was struck with strategic brilliance every now and then, most notably the time she'd alerted Max to danger afoot with mention of some hot boy named Carlos. Now, it was hitting her again; if she left the rope this way, she'd probably be able to pull it apart on her own when the time was right. On the other hand, if she cut all the way through, even with such a blasé attitude at least one of the soldiers was apt to take notice. And so that rope was abandoned, and the knife was turned upward to begin work freeing her wrists.  
  
The soldier near the door, meanwhile, was now shuffling his gun back and forth robotically, without attention or care. The back of the driver's head had become far more interesting somewhere along the way, and then it was all about the mole above his partner's right eyebrow. It was large and humorously so, and he found himself imagining that the thing was growing progressively larger and that soon it would engulf the man's entire head. He smiled; what fun that would be.  
  
He was blown from his reverie when the van hit an inconsistency in the road and sent him tumbling over, his gun falling to land against the JamPony messenger's leg, who inadvertently cut through the whole of the bind connecting her ankles at the heavy bounce. She retracted the knife quickly, but it was too late; the soldier had already caught the glint and was advancing on her, his senses and gun swiftly collected.  
  
"Whatcha got there?" he inquired, peering down into her hands and bringing with him the suspicious attention of the other soldier. Adrenaline was all that mattered...fight or flight fight or flight fight or flight...die today? Feel the pain of the bullet, the one that would erupt from his gun, the one pointing at her thigh? Her thigh, not her chest...fight or flight...or her head...fight or flight...because they were wanted alive. They were needed, she and Logan. Fear was paramount and crippling but there's always the other option. Fight or flight. She looked to her friend, who understood like she knew he would because even when he was too proud and stubborn he always did, beyond the fact that they weren't all that close. Choose now. Strength; that's what she needed from him, and he was scared, it wasn't a secret and if it was it was very poorly guarded but he was pleading. Fight or flight. What has to be done must be done. Fight.  
  
Flash to a nanosecond later, after the contact of her now free foot with a highly sensitive male area. To a soldier collapsing in pain against the wall and a gun skidding to the extreme back of the van. There was no time for jubilation or thought before the other soldier had wrapped one arm around her throat and aimed his weapon at her hand, though, and on instinct she utilized her own weapon, thrusting her hand back blindly and stabbing her assailant dangerously close to the eye. He cried out, releasing his gun to hold his gushing wound.  
  
It was then that the ensuing fray registered with those up front. The soldier riding shotgun turned first, reaction with gun poised and ready, and his gaze was soon joined by that of the driver.  
  
"Oh shit!" he exclaimed, forgetting the road. He felt the pavement begin to slope and diminish, and he turned back to find that they had come upon a sharp curve and weren't going to come off of it...vehicles that slam into trees at 40 miles per hour usually aren't in the best shape to accomplish such a thing. He barely had time to utter another curse before all were slammed heavily into whatever happened to be in front of them, a steering wheel and dashboard being in his way. Unfortunately for him, cars equipped with airbags were hard to come by these days, let alone budget vans. He slumped over, knocked unconscious, his passengers shaking their heads to regain their bearings.   
  
Weakened by both Cindy's assault and the shock and severity of the impact, the soldiers accompanying the prisoners could do little beyond groan and grapple at the floor, while Cindy had to work hard to overcome the intense amount of pain she was now feeling and poor Logan could only lie helplessly on his side, having been knocked over. Vision was beginning to fail her and her sock felt soggy with blood, but it wasn't important. Survival was important. Access to her knife failed her but the guns were free for the taking and she collected them with immediacy. They felt heavy, cold...like she imagined death must feel. Death that would have to come from her own hands. She hesitated.  
  
"You have to do it," he said suddenly and she looked into his eyes. "I'm sorry," he whispered, understanding her question perfectly. And he meant it. He knew how she must feel, but if she didn't go through with this they were done for. The soldiers were already picking themselves back up.  
  
"I don't wanna do it." She was about ready to cry; soon they'd be on her and they'd be angry, and the still conscious of the two up front was limping out the door surely to come around. It had to be done. But god, two people would be dead and she'd be responsible.  
  
"I know," he said, "I know. And I can't promise you you'll be all right afterward, but..." He paused for reflection; how he'd felt these past few days and only ten or so minutes before, letting himself waste away and wanting it. But now, for the first time in a long time, he truly wasn't thinking about himself. When he gave himself up, he did it more to save his image than to save Cindy. Now, though, it didn't matter what happened to him, or how he looked to the world. What mattered was that she live. "...but if you don't do this you'll die. I'd do it for you if I could...but YOU have to."  
  
Fight or flight. Her breath came in short gasps. "I ain't down with this, Logan. Original Cindy lays the smackdown when she has to, but...I don't wanna kill anybody." His response didn't have time to reach her; one of the soldiers found himself and lunged toward her, sparking reaction with consideration. He fell dead and she tumbled backward from the inertia of the shot, into the other soldier, who met the same fate before she could process what had just happened.  
  
Perfect.  
  
She was shaking and sobs threatened release. There was no air, there was no color, and repressed self-hatred and insecurity was rapidly finding itself an outlet. Hazy, awful world this was...adrenaline tells you it's okay to fight but it neglects to bring to light the consequences. Kill or be killed? She refused to subscribe to that slogan, even now, even after all she'd done and seen. A rotten little voice suddenly complained that Max was supposed to be the killer in this relationship and she hated herself even more.  
  
Repression was a virtue in this case, though, and years of the hard life had taught her well. She was numb, but nimble fingers were searching for the knife and then righting Logan before setting him free and giving him one of the guns. Not a moment too soon, either, as it was then that the final mobile soldier of the van threw open the doors, only to eat the bullet of an armed and dangerous Eyes Only. There was some measure of guilt within him, but he was fast in survival mode, so it was easily ignored.  
  
She fell to her knees at the third death and heaved out of relief. "It's over," she whispered.  
  
"I wouldn't count on it," Logan warned, looking irritably out into the street. She too looked, punching the floor of the van in frustration when she saw the vehicle that had been bringing up the rear of this little convoy stop and spew out five more soldiers. Logan pulled himself expertly against the space between the wall of the van and the hinges of the left door, motioning for Cindy to do the same on her side. Sound became the enemy; the loud eruption of guns and the sharp wail of metal bending as it was pummeled with bullets reigning Hell over their ears. She stayed with fright in hiding, desiring both to avoid getting shot and having to kill yet another person. He, having had more experience in the matter before he'd lost his legs, was braver, leaning around the hinges in short intervals to unload at their foes. One down, two out of sight but that wasn't important right now. Two down...and then he started at Cindy's cry and an odd sensation of being pushed backward. Her eyes were wide and her cheeks were pale and her chest was heaving, and he looked down to find that he had been shot in the leg. For once, he was grateful for his paralysis.  
  
He wasn't really sure how to react, but he wanted to keep confident his partner of sorts, so he simply shrugged it off and turned back to the ensuing shoot-out. It worked; he exuded strength and she borrowed it, despite nearly crippling fear and a gross fascination with the fresh bullet hole in his leg. She sucked in a deep breath and peered around the door for the first time, shooting with wild abandon and without much in the way of aim or even general direction. There were three shots at once, from her, the solitary soldier and Logan, and she was blown back at nearly the same instant that the soldier fell. There was nothing in the world that could possibly compare to this, nothing. She could feel and hear the skin tear, and she felt it and heard it over and over and over, the bullet ripping her flesh and embedding itself securely in her shoulder. She fell against the wall and allowed herself to cry, forgetting to remember not to care, forgetting the world...everything but the pain, the pain pouring acid directly into her veins and permeating even what she didn't know she had. The sacrifice of stolid dignity was a small price to pay for a way to make it all more bearable.   
  
He looked to her with sympathy and searched for a way to comfort her, though deep down he knew nothing could ever make this better and that if they made it home she'd never be the same. She'd be more like...probably more like Max. Max, if only she was here...he shook her away and looked out at the last killed, whom he knew he'd shot. Cindy was poor with a gun and had only managed to mark up the other van, but she didn't need to know that.  
  
"Nice shot," he said simply. Through the cascade of tears he picked up a look of confusion. "That was you. You got him. You saved us."  
  
//Great. I killed again// she thought bitterly, but she pretended to buy in to what he was trying to do, for his sake and perhaps a little for her own. She smiled, and he smiled, and they began to move from the van when the two soldiers who had disappeared earlier revealed themselves, rapidly relieving the two of their guns. She pushed backward, fumbling around with eyes steady on the man approaching her as the other proceeded to drag Logan violently from the van. He threw awkward punches and mentally retracted the thankfulness he'd briefly had for his disability. He scraped and bumped against the pavement and it wasn't long before his fate was accepted and any sort of struggling on his part ceased.  
  
In the van, the soldier grabbed Cindy's left arm and pulled her harshly toward him, her right hand passing over cold and grabbing at it desperately. She fell back into survival mode, without tears, without thought and with sudden hatred and boiling anger over her injured and aching shoulder, the shoulder that was being yanked roughly by her attacker. Haze, pain lost in fog...and a knife wedged deep under the vest and into the stomach of a surprised and now severely bleeding young man, who fired harmlessly over the girl's unmarked shoulder. Another thrust and he brought up blood, and then he had fallen to her knees.   
  
//Huh, guess I DO got the balls// she thought as she pried the peace from the dying man's fingers. She was steel; she could feel herself changing and she didn't think she liked it but right now such was inconsequential. She steadied herself and took her time, now, using the site and bracing the barrel against her opposite forearm, as she'd seen Logan and the soldiers do. A single shot pierced the back of the neck, and Logan was free.  
  
Belief was impossible at first, but when he saw her climb out into the road and limp toward him, the person she had been such a short time ago swiftly fading into elsewhere, he knew she'd saved him. Both of them. What troubled him was that it might have cost her more than a healthy shoulder.  
  
She stopped short to make sure he was all right, then surveyed the rear van with annoyed disapproval. "Figgers we blow the front tires out," she complained. "Guess we don't got much choice butta try it, though."  
  
He nodded, then noted the blood coating her sock and the bottom of her pant leg, as well as that spreading across his own leg. "Worry about that later. Right now we've got bigger problems." She took the hint and they spent the next few minutes tearing bits of cloth with which to dress their wounds, getting on in somewhat companionable silence but truly trying their damndest not to pay attention to the ravaged victims of battle that lay around them. The stench of blood and gunsmoke and the beginnings of death assaulted them, and it was decided without words that they were getting out of this place as soon as they could and promptly forgetting it...if that was even possible. Was it? No...Cindy's head suddenly fell into her hands and she tried to keep standing the new walls she'd created, forcing the emotional and physical pain into an uncomfortable ball and trying without success to swallow it. The comforting hand that took hers startled her, and, despite her orientation, she thought she could tell what Max saw in Logan when she looked up into his face.  
  
"If you wanna cry, it's all right," he urged. But she didn't. She thanked him with a nod and a smile, but there were no more tears. She was beyond that now. She was in a place where the upsetting could no longer outwardly upset her, and without a word she pulled herself to her feet and moved to the driver's side of the van. She was about to get it when Logan gruffly cleared her throat.  
  
"Hey, uh...I'm a little crippled here," he joked wryly. Nervous laughter passed between them and she walked over and grabbed him tightly under the arms, pulling with all her might and finally getting him to the passenger side after quite a bit of difficulty. She helped him get settled, something he usually would have insisted upon doing himself but he presently was too drained to care about, then returned to the driver's side and prepared to complete their escape, however futile it might be in a van with only two available wheels. As she was turned the engine, though, a flash of motion caught her eye and again chemicals rushed, alerting all senses and putting her on such an edge that Logan couldn't help but notice.   
  
"Shit, shit, shit!" she cried, desperately trying to turn the van around as a fresh batch of bullets struck the hood, the windshield, the front of her side view mirror. The driver of the first van had regained consciousness and pulled himself out, effectively starting the battle anew. The engine revved and sputtered in protest at her hurried maneuvers but it turned all the same, going slightly off the road at one point but without trouble. A bullet crashed through her window and grazed Logan's upper arm before embedding in the opposite door, but other than that the two remained relatively unscathed from this present encounter, though there was plenty to remind them of the injuries sustained in the first part of the battle. They tried to forget it, to focus on the exhilaration of having earned themselves a victory, and for perhaps a moment or two there was relief, even some amount of joy.  
  
But nothing lasts forever.  
  
The back of the van was now riddled with bullet holes, including the two rear tires. When it's useless to try and shoot to kill it's best to do what you can to disable. The previously unconscious driver followed this well, and in his mind, as he fiddled with his radio and wished that he instead could have a cell phone, that was something for which the director could definitely be proud. 


	23. I Know the Breakdown

A/N: I'm sorry it's been taking so long, if anyone even still cares. I am among those that are very disappointed and that have been losing faith in the show. It's getting to the point where, as far as I'm concerned, DA went out after the first season. What goes by the name of DA now is a piss-ass wannabe knock-off. YAY. Happiness.  
  
But I AM gonna finish this, I promise. I'm still very into this story and I'm anxious to get it done...I'm just having some motivational issues at the moment, heh. Oh, and for Alec fans, don't worry, I consider him a bright spot in S2 and he WILL be popping up for a cameo in a few chapters. Wee...  
*******  
  
  
It wasn't long before Zack gave up trying to keep track of all the traffic laws Max was breaking at the moment. Though he admitted that he giddily accepted the occasional daredevil stunt and risked his precious skin for a quick adrenaline rush, he couldn't remember ever having gone this fast and it actually unnerved him a bit. He peered over her should at the speedometer - 180, 185, 190, 195, nausea sweeping over him. //God, she's gonna kill us.//  
  
Needless to say, they reached Seattle in record time, and despite the misgivings he'd had during the ride, this pleased him immensely. He owed it to her to allow this mission, and the unfamiliar pangs of guilt that had been flowing through him since their argument convinced him that he'd feel better afterward. He still wanted to finish up and get out of here as quickly as possible, though, even as it occurred to him that she very well may not be coming with him this time.  
  
He protested the move, but she thought it best to enter Logan's apartment through the front door to avoid any traps that might have been laid and to arrive at better condition to confront whatever unwanted visitors they might come across. Norm soldiers were so predictable; they'd never expect an X-5 to act human and make a discrete and common entrance. He could hear the crunch of eggshells so he bent to her and they boarded the elevator, with all pretense of normalcy.  
  
The foyer seemed quiet enough; relief washed over her but an edge remained all the same. Paranoia dictated that the shadows and silence not be trusted, and at the moment overt caution was everything. She moved as she had at the cabin, slow but painfully alert, and she started when the fall of her footstep was met with a sharp crunch. She looked toward her feet to take in the shards of glass and then up to note the shattered skylight, breaths staggering as her heart and stomach lodged themselves in her throat.  
  
"Oh god...LOGAN!" she cried, the panic overwhelming and forcing her to rush unbounded through the penthouse. Zack followed slowly, still unsure whether they should be doing this and suddenly feeling such anxiety over Logan's apparent absence that he frightened himself and briefly considered quietly slipping out. But he could never do that to Max, even if she was so deeply wrong that she'd likely drown him. Even then, it was rare that he was able to refuse her when she needed his help, and this was not one of those occasions.  
  
She, meanwhile, had come to the great Eyes Only's room, a gasp escaping her lips. On the floor in pieces lay the exoskeleton, almost like a calling card, and among that as well as on the bed and all over the floor lay fragments of what remained of the window. She wanted to collapse; the Earth had gone of its axis, rolling erratically as flames engulfed her and guilty sobs threatened to break free. She had to lean momentarily on the edge of the bed so that she might collect herself, and all emotion was pushed down and held back. Pushed down, but certainly not forgotten, always screaming to break free. It was difficult to ignore but somehow she managed to calmly search the room for any concrete evidence. There was none, but as she neared the window something down below in the alley caught her eye. She leaned out and her pupils dilated, bringing every detail into sharp clarity...there, folded and tucked against the wall, was Logan's wheelchair.  
  
Zack happened to summon the strength to enter the room just as Max saw this, just as the pain and anger erupted.  
  
"GOD! Those bastards...motherfucking..." As she noted her brother's presence, she saw him only as an ally with which to share her anger and moved swiftly toward him, steaming and rambling. "They're gonna pay, Zack. I swear, ya don't MESS with my people...I'm gonna kick their asses. No, I'm gonna KILL them...they'll BURN before they get away with this..." She moved past him and tried to rush out in her rage, but he grabbed her arm and held her fast; this was anything but an intelligent way to proceed.  
  
"Are you crazy?" he demanded of her. "Don't tell me that now you wanna take on Manticore for him. Without any back up or weapons or surveillance, without precaution. Dammit, we couldn't even take it with all of that on our side." As usual, his intense gaze was meant to intimidate, and as usual she met it with the headstrong defiance for which she was known.  
  
"I never said I wanted to do that. I'm not THAT stupid; gimme some credit," she spat. "But I gotta do something. I gotta try. I mean, they may not even be there yet. We could intercept them."  
  
He sighed and lowered his head, but for once he felt no anger - only sympathy. She was as blinded when it came to Logan and her friends as he was when it came to her; neither was the better for it, and he was beginning to understand. When he spoke again, it was more softly, in a tone to which he figured she'd be far more likely to listen.  
  
"Max...they busted in at 12:30 this afternoon. That's over five hours ago. Even if they're not there yet, they will be before we can get to them." He felt a strange urge to pull her to him as a gesture of comfort, but reddened with shame and averted his eyes before allowing it to take place. He shouldn't be feeling like this... "I'm sorry," he whispered, more for his own benefit than for hers. She saw right through to the emotional conflict and thought perhaps she should call attention to it but immediately thought better of it; it would probably only embarrass him more and chase him further into himself. Instead, she continued on as if there had been no change in his demeanor, but with more consideration for his feelings and his point of view.  
  
"I know that. It's not looking good for us at all. And if that's what happens, if we get too close to Manticore and we haven't seen them, we'll let it go, okay? Probably be the hardest thing I'll ever do in my life, but..." The tears begged for release again and a few began to sneak out. "...I'll let him go. I'll buckle down and pretend I don't care. But I can't do that without a fight. I feel guilty enough about it as it is, ya know? I keep thinking I coulda done something if I stayed. I shoulda...I shoulda been here to stop it." The tears were falling steadily now, albeit silently. "I mean, you look at this, it's messy. An X-5 woulda covered their tracks a hell of a lot better. These were norms that did this, and ya know why? Cuz they expected me not to be here. I coulda taken them, but no. They know you, and they know how I am when it comes to you, so they figured I'd bounce. And what'd I do? Right what they wanted me to. And this happens every...time... I detach myself, cuz I'm thinking like you and I don't wanna have to care, and I think everyone'll be safer and better off for it. I get all scared and I run, but..." She was nearly sobbing at this point, pushing back against the doorjamb for support. "...every time I do, it just makes it worse and I end up feeling like this. Why...why don't I learn? Why's it gotta be like that? I can't win..."  
  
He wasn't sure what he was doing, or what that vague ache in the pit of his stomach meant, but suddenly he was wrapping his arms around her and letting her cry into his chest. It was strange and different sensation that passed through him and it confused him, as did the warm emotions toward Max that he'd developed over the years. He'd learned to like those somewhat...maybe he could learn to like this, too.  
  
He only had a moment to savor the feeling before she had gained composure and pulled away from him. She wrapped her arms around herself and locked away her vulnerability; now was the time to get serious about the mission.  
  
"There's no time for this," she stated simply, and with an understanding nod he followed her out of the room. Before they left, she was struck with a nearly year-old memory of a slightly similar situation, and she plugged the computer back in and quickly booted up. Eyes Only was in the hands of the enemy, and it was doubtful he would be rescued. With a few quick commands the Informant Net was warned and deleted, and an urban legend faded into oblivion. 


	24. Switch

A/N: Only 4 or 5 more chapters to go (can't decide whether I want to break up 27 or not), HUZZAH! And in this chapter...enter Alec! Except not called Alec, because obviously that's Max's name for him...  
  
One more thing. Sorry about the confusion the whole "3 1/2 hours earlier" thing might cause, but I made a slight organizational error and that's my way of remedying it. Just know that the next two chapters take place like right after the shoot-out...  
*******  
  
  
----3 1/2 hours earlier----  
She stood by the hummer, absently turning the cell phone over in her hands as she watched her team load and prepare, pondering her next move with increasing anxiety. Renfro almost hadn't assigned her on this mission, as she was understandably angry and disappointed with the way in which Brin had handled X5-452. But Brin was their very best, so punishment was to be held off until this particular objective was accomplished. She feared that punishment, and her pulse quickened with the thought of what it might be, but she knew that she deserved it. She deserved it even more after what she had just done, and she felt guilty and like the traitor she knew she was. But at the moment she couldn't bring herself to dial the number and report the incident, to earn back the trust of the one person who really mattered anymore in her life. She wondered (with some small, nearly forgotten part of her wishing it were so) if it might even be too late to report it...  
  
  
  
~~~FLASHBACK~~~  
~ 'X5-734, report to my office immediately.'  
  
She stood and waited patiently in front of the door of her cell, straight and still until the guard pulled it open and allowed her passage. Trepidation working its way through her; she was certain the director had decided on a form of reprisal for Max's escape and dreaded her sentencing, though her features were hard and emotionless as she'd been taught they must be.  
  
She entered Renfro's office and snapped smartly to attention, outwardly paying little mind to the three other X-5s in the room but inwardly begging that they hadn't anything to do with the hardship she was sure she would soon endure.  
  
'At ease,' Renfro commanded, and the soldier dropped her legs shoulder-width apart and crossed her palms in the small of her back. The director came around to stand before her, looking thoughtfully up into her face as if deciding whether the right decision was being made. At least she spoke, explaining to Brin that only one of the soldiers assigned to capture Eyes Only was alive at the moment, that this particular soldier had lost his target but rendered the getaway vehicle eventually undrivable by taking out the tires, and that something needed to be done.   
  
'Never send a norm to do an X-5's job,' she said with a chuckle. Norms would be sent along, naturally, as a clean-up crew; but Brin would be leading a small team of X-5s to recapture Eyes Only and she swelled with pride and relief. Then there was a more detailed briefing, and soon she was being introduced to the three other X-5s in the room, who would reportedly be the very best if it weren't for her. Two females, X5-332 and X5-871, and a male, X5-494, who reminded her greatly of Ben. She shrugged and assumed that the two of them had been twinned, this one's genetics altered slighty after birth so that his barcode would be one number greater and they could thus tell the two of them apart. She recalled the upheavel over Ben's odd ritual of sacrifice and felt deeply sympathetic toward the man before her, imagining how severe his psych evaluation must have been.  
  
Moments later she was making her way through the corridors of Manticore, barking orders and navigating through the disarray and only feeling more and more like this was what she was meant to be. She loved times like this, when it felt wonderful to be a soldier and to be in charge and when she couldn't remember why she had ever been so happy on the outside. At others she would fall into despair and come dangerously close to attempting escape but then the reprogramming would kick in and everything would be okay. Life here was hard, yes; but it was safe, and she was understood, and she would never ever have to hide who she really was in front of anyone here. She was free to be an X-5 and she didn't have to worry about covering up her barcode or laying low. That was far more than she could say for the crumbling world outside Manticore's walls.  
  
As she passed one of the less secure prisoners' cells, a hand reached out to her and she grabbed it reflexively, everything focusing and steeling and preparing for the event of an attack. She relaxed, though, she she realized that it was only Lydecker; he had been moved up here from his more confined cell after giving in to the interrogation efforts because he wouldn't be needed much longer and space needed to be made for the incoming and far more valuable prisoner. She released him and sighed heavily, forgetting to encase her exterior and appearing visibly annoyed.  
  
'What do you want, traitor?' she questioned acidly.  
  
'I am NOT the enemy,' he insisted. His right eye was surrounded by puffy red folds from the ministrations of the laser and his other was painfully wide while his expression pleaded with desperation, giving him a wild, manic appearance. She backed up slowly and allowed herself to fall into amused sarcasm.  
  
'Oh, and I suppose the director IS?'  
  
Lydecker pursed his lips together angrily, wanting briefly to wrap his fingers around her neck and scream until his voice gave out, but he stifled it and somehow managed to remain calm; he was in a cell anyway, so there was no real headway to be made by doing something like that at the moment. 'You know what was done to Tinga,' he began. 'You know how she died, and I know that Renfro would do the same to you in a heartbeat.'  
  
Brin rolled her eyes; this was rich. 'X5-656 was a traitor, and what the director did in her case was something that absolutely needed to be done. It was for the...'  
  
'...for the good of Manticore, blah blah, yes, I know what she's been telling you,' he interrupted, his anger nearly erupting from him, 'and they are lies, Brin. They are all lies.'  
  
She simply stared at him for a moment, unable to comprehend the import of his words. That small, insignificant part deep down that they had never seemed able to eradicate was trying to tell her that she should listen to him, but the rest only detected the hissing of snakes and she shook her head and began to walk away. He had lost it somewhere along, she didn't know where, but he was far gone now and it bordered on pathetic.  
  
'NO!' he cried after her. She continued moving, but slower, curiosity getting the best of her. 'You listen to me, Brin. I created you. I raised you. I taught you EVERYTHING you know. I saved you from the progeria. Now who are you going to trust?'  
  
She stopped and turned, facing his outstretched hand and the small bit of his head that could be pushed through the bars, those pesky emotions of hers driving her wild with confusion and rage. He was right on some levels, so right, but he had betrayed them. He had betrayed HER. Now he was asking that he be the one she trusted and he couldn't possibly be serious... 'You tried to destroy Manticore,' she stated softly, almost at a whisper. It was then that a few guards stopped to listen in and she dismissed them; this was a private matter.  
  
Lydecker, meanwhile, took both the tone of her voice and the dismissal of the eavesdroppers as a sign that she was beginning to waver. He grasped the bars and pulled himself up closer to them, as close as he possibly could, his skin pulling taught and his nose poking through and out into the open. 'Yes, I did. I did it for YOU. I did it for your brothers and sisters. I did it for the entire X-5 line, in order to save you.' She moved back into position directly in front of his cell and he derived from this the strength to continue. 'I told Max and Zack that I would do ANYTHING to protect you and that is what I have done. Do you honestly think I would have gone to such extremes if I didn't think there was something horribly wrong with what Renfro was doing?'  
  
She opened her mouth to offer up some retort, but she could think of none so she closed it again. What was the matter with her? This was her home, her life. This was where she was born and where she belonged. It was unthinkable to go against it and to disobey the most important person in her life but suddenly she wanted to and she couldn't understand why. Everything was hazy; and he saw through to what she was feeling and she could tell, and she thought of iron and steel beams but didn't have the drive to put them to good use.  
  
She was crumbling. She had been outside far too long to have a truly stable loyalty to Mantciore and he fixed his gaze intense and steady, aiming to penetrate and prod and apparently he was doing a very good job of it. He lowered his voice as he entered his plea. 'Let me out, Brin. You don't have to leave, you don't have to abort whatever mission you've just been sent on. I'm not going to ask you to give this up, or immediately betray all of this again. Just be forewarned that she is not what she seems. Watch her closely; if not for me or for yourself, then for your siblings.' He watched the erratic rise and fall of her chest, the way her features softened at the use of the word 'siblings,' and his heart leapt with hope. 'Please. Let me out.'  
  
She hesitated and tried once again to be a pillar of strength, to be hard and strong and detached but that voice was begging, telling her that this was the right thing to do. //It's okay, Brin. You won't be caught. Just do it. He's done everything for you. You know you want to, come on. Remember the ocean? Remember how beautiful it was, and then they took you and you knew you'd never get to see it again? Remember how happy you used to be, even when you had to run? He's right, girl. Just let him go.// She hesitated further; no, no there was nothing out there. Manticore was everything...but they had made her leave the ocean...  
  
'That is an ORDER, soldier,' Lydecker barded suddenly, having grown impatient and deciding to employ a different tactic.  
  
She looked long and hard at him, and thought about the ocean, and hung her head. When she raised it, she leaned in close and with a heavy heart softly said, 'you won't get very far dressed like that. I'll be right back.' And then she was rushing off to the washroom to find him a uniform.~  
~~~END FLASHBACK~~~  
  
  
  
She sighed heavily and irritably, silently berating herself for having been so stupid and weak...for a second time. The best of the best, puh. She was nothing. She was a rotten traitor, and she had no right to be heading up this mission. At least not with the way things were at the moment. Perhaps if she remedied them, she could redeem herself and prove worthy again, to herself and to Renfro.  
  
Indecision was lost and she forgot about the ocean, dialing the familiar number and feeling better already at the tone of the opposite line's ringer.  
  
"Renfro," answered the gruff female voice at the other end.  
  
"Ma'am, this is X5-734, requestion permission to deliver some rather bad news."  
  
"What is it, 734?"  
  
She sucked in a deep breath and smiled with the knowledge that she was making good, then continued. "I am afraid that I have just been informed that Colonel Lydecker has been released from captivity." 


	25. The Price is Right

A tangled network of veins threatened to rip through the epidermal shell in which her hand was encased and the exterior of the phone creaked softly as her fingers tightened their grip. She was known for exhibiting blinding rage when something in which she had any amount of faith went amiss, and this incident was certainly no exception. Still, a precedent had to be set so she sucked in a deep and shaky breath, closed her eyes, and implored herself to remain calm.  
  
"And has a reason been given for this untimely discharge, X5-734?" she asked coolly.  
  
Brin hesitated briefly, deftly subduing the sudden nervous tremors that had begun to pass through her system. She knew it wasn't an on-coming seizure, as the medics had corrected that problem when treating the progeria, so it was simply a need for "mind over matter." She steadied quickly and reminded herself that she was doing the right thing, whether or not she was being completely honest. It was only a half-lie, anyway.  
  
"A norm traitor is suspected, ma'am," she finally answered. She fished for a name and recalled that of the idiot who had made several passes at her during the early days of her re-indoctrination and who presently still got off to leering at her. In accordance to the rules, all she had been able to do was intimidate and slap him around a few times, and by this point he knew that without the director's permission she had no authority to kill him, so such no longer had much of an effect. More than just the obvious personal vendetta she had against him, she could feel his knowledge beginning to spread like the disease it was through the impressionable minds of the other norms and she knew how detrimental that could be to the barrier of fearsome respect which currently separated them from the X-5s. He had to be eliminated, and framing him for treason was certainly the way to go.   
  
"It is believed to be Staff Srgt. Reed, as he was seen nervously collecting Anderson's uniform from the washroom minutes before the prisoner's release and was then seen walking swiftly in the opposite direction of the now empty cell. Another reports to have seen him speaking with the prisoner earlier today; he may have been verbally coerced into allowing release."  
  
Renfro bristled with relief at the mention of both a concrete suspect and a uniform for which to search and subconsciously loosened her grip on the phone. The unfolding situation might not be so dire as she had originally assumed.   
  
"Very well...thank you, 734," said she before abruptly ending the contact. For a moment she leaned still against her desk and hung her head, collecting her nerves and emotions and assuring herself that another prisoner would not be foolishly lost. Soon after, guards were rushing to seal off all exits and a select few were wandering, watching, waiting, and another group was detaining Staff Srgt. Reed and dragging him screaming to the basement, shouting that he'd done nothing and that they had no right and "please don't take me down there...not with the freaks, not with the freaks, oh god..." and kicking and struggling but failing and eventually being beaten into submission. Their fearless leader, up above, removed her pistol from the desk drawer and relished the cold and the hard and the way her fingers molded perfectly around the handle, then tucked it into her pocket to give an appearance of normalcy before venturing out into the hall.   
  
Brin, meanwhile, unable to control her smile and her joy at having simultaneously righted a wrong and eliminated a possible future threat, surveyed the preparedness of her team and then ordered them to move out, feeling as though all was right with the world and nothing could be better.  
  
*******  
  
They hadn't even been able to go a mile, probably not even a quarter that distance. The tires flopped and smacked the pavement awkwardly and the vehicle lurched in disapproval while the engine sputtered from exhaustion and the road itself seemed to beg for the torture to end. They gave up quickly and ran it off the road, bumping and bouncing and coming dangerously close to further injuring both the van and themselves. It was anything but a pleasant experience and they both knew that what was to come wasn't going to prove much better.  
  
Deep down, it was known that at this point there was no use, but the instinct to survive is powerful and knows little of common sense. Original Cindy situated herself behind her friend and hugged him under the arms from behind, attempting to drag him. The muscle he had developed from having been confined to a wheelchair added much to his weight and even for an individual with a perfect bill of health (the genetically engineered variety aside) this task would have been somewhat daunting. Unfortunately, Cindy was attempting this with not only a severed tendon in her ankle but a bullet in her shoulder, and after much grunting and panting and whimpers of pain, he'd been moved only about ten feet or so and she entertained the idea of collapsing, going to sleep for the rest of forever. He understood the difficulty she was having and felt awful for having subjected her to this and embarrassed for the fact that he was disabled, so he flipped himself over on his stomach and decided to have a go at propelling himself with his arms and abs. It worked, but then so did the permeation of reality into both of their minds and as the futility of returning to Seattle in such a manner registered with both of them, their energies became devoted to moving off the road and settling into the woods.  
  
Into the woods, into a pile of decaying leaves and pine needles, to sit against trees and to tend their wounds and to wait. Wait and watch for a savior, in any form, in any way. Someone or something to lift them swiftly out of the mouth of Hell and deliver them to the assumably more desirable and peaceful lives they'd been leading before their forced embarkment on this misadventure. But if they ever returned, there would be no peace, and happiness would come in quick, forgettable bursts and there would always be running, from the tangible and physical to otherwise. Waiting, and watching, and losing hope, because whatever might come, it would never truly be what was needed.  
  
*******  
  
He wasn't afraid of being attacked. No, he could handle that and he knew they had gotten lucky when they'd knocked him out and he was alert and he was ready. What scared him was that he was walking through nearly empty corridors, and the few soldiers he passed stared long and hard and almost smiled with a secret knowledge he didn't think he wanted to share.  
  
He wasn't an idiot. The suspicious registered easily with him at this age and this level of experience and he was able to make sense of it and he knew that Brin had likely betrayed him at this point. He hadn't counted on gaining her complete and unbreakable trust and hadn't worried about it because he only needed her alliance long enough to attain freedom. And for an instant that had obviously worked, because he was out of his cell and in disguise and roaming freely. He was a master of manipulation and another stepping stone had been left behind, but he was rapidly losing confidence in the reliability of the one on which he currently stood.  
  
More fear entered his system when he neared the exit toward which he had been headed and took note of the guards collecting around it. Correct suspicions and assumptions were not his favorite kind and his heart began to race as he ducked away and started down a different corridor, his stride widening and his lowering as he passed a few more apparent stragglers, imagining them all reaching out at once from opposite directions, knocking him out with tazers and then beating the life out of him while he drifted into an unnatural sleep. He felt like snapping their necks; he wanted to take each one by one and make clear that he was the one in charge and that he was the only one that mattered and that THEY were the traitors for not trying to save him. But he didn't even know them, and at least one would have ample time to call for back-up and even if they didn't the exits were being blocked and he couldn't waste any time. He moved past, hating them and hating his own stupidity and praying his kids would be safe. And then he heard the crackle of a radio, and paranoia swept him and he saw them all as spies, everyone, everything.   
  
He wanted to be at Logan's penthouse. He wanted to go back in time and take the out and help tear apart Manticore from the outside. But he couldn't. It was likely that Logan was dead, and if Lydecker was to escape the only thing he would have accomplished was to cause that death. He pictured the gallows and briefly he longed for them.  
  
A part of him realized the importance of survival, though, as it seems to do in most of us. His wife used to write poems and he remembered a small part of one of them... 'And beyond a semblance I don't want to die / No one really wants to die.' He supposed that in some ways it was true, and took strength and imagined maybe fixing things once he got out of here. Maybe. If it suited him.  
  
He then came upon a dark intersection of hallways, remembering those who almost certainly were spies and straightening with caution, peering left and right in the manner of one crossing a busy turnpike. He couldn't turn back, so he pretended to be sure of himself and continued on, seeing only one vaguely familiar figure coming toward him from the left. He fabricated an itch on his left temple and slipped his hand up under the edge of the uniform's helmet to scratch it, effectively blocking his face from the view of whoever was approaching. And then he was in the clear, and his pulse settled, and he was safe and he was sure. It was going to be all right. He was going to get out of this, he was going to see the sky and feel the rain and breathe without care.  
  
And then the hairs on the back of his neck parted and tickled him and his helmet slid forward slightly, his blood freezing and sitting heavy and still in his overworked veins.  
  
"Leaving so soon, Deck?"  
  
He realized with horror who the figure had been and ached to move but feared the real. "Renfro..." he gasped softly. She replied by cocking back the pistol, which presently rested snugly against the base of his skull, and he was dizzy with panic. The distant hum of his brain was amplified until he could hear nothing else. His muscles tightened painfully and the world swayed to the point of almost tipping him over. Calmness was an impossible dream.  
  
"You need me," he choked weakly, confused as to why fate hadn't yet slipped in to stop her. She laughed and he cringed.  
  
"Not anymore."  
  
Everything was still. One breath was a thousand lifetimes, forever and intense as he had never known intensity. There was clarity, and he was wrong, and this wasn't worth it. He would have died no matter what he did. He would have died. He would have died. He would have...  
  
Her hand flipped backward slightly but she was used to her gun and so thusly controlled it. For a second the body wanted to think that it was still alive, but then it crumpled unceremoniously to the floor, the helmet rolling off to the side, and she pushed down whatever disgust she might have felt over the fact that she had just killed a man. She still had those twinges of regret, the realization of having done something wholly immoral and she did feel bad for it. But sometimes people had to be killed, and she was more important than they were anyway.  
  
She stepped carefully around the body and kicked it over, recoiling slightly at the sight of his face. Half of it had been obliterated, while the other was fully recognizable as Lydecker. She must have been holding the gun at an angle; it would look a hell of a lot less disturbing if the bullet had gone straight through like it was supposed to.  
  
Her breath hitched; maybe the disturbing nature of the body wasn't such a bad thing. She removed an object from her pocket (one she had been carrying since she got the hoverdrone) and clicked a few times, drawing stares of curiosity from the guards who had come running when the gunshot went off. She looked around at each of them after replacing the device and ran her tongue along the undersides of her molars as she huffed in aggravation.  
  
"Are you just going to stand there, or is one of you actually going to bother to clean up this mess?"  
  
  
*******  
A/N: I love Lydecker, I swear! But his death is important to the plot. Yes. Mmm hmm. Anyway...just 3 more chapters to go. *ominous music* 


	26. ...or Not to Be

A/N: Sorry that took a little longer than the past few chapters have taken. I went on vacation, though, so I haven't been able to put it up until today. I wrote the bulk of it on the plane, actually, heh.  
  
Anyway, I'd like to take this opportunity to thank everyone who has reviewed, both in this story and in my others. You guys always make my day...partly it gives me the motivation to keep writing, and partly it gives me the motivation to keep watching the show, because I know I'm not the only one sticking it out to the end. My passion has basically been all but completely revived the past few episodes, anyway...it's a shame it took them until the last few episodes to pull out the big guns, though...  
  
But, anywho.  
*******  
  
  
  
----Present time----  
185, 190, 195...he didn't know why he was still paying such close attention to their speed. They were out of the city, on back roads, and the sooner this was through the better. For some reason, though, he couldn't help feeling nervous...puh, imagine that. An X-5 afraid of going a little too fast. He grinned and shook the feeling away.  
  
"We should try to come around and meet them head on," he suggested, straining his voice to be heard over the hum of the engine. She shook her head and he sank away.  
  
"No," she shouted back, "you said it yourself: there's not enough time for that."  
  
On some level he knew that she was right, but pride was his favorite vice and as usual he let it overtake him. He wanted to be right; she had gotten the upperhand one too many times today and he was sick of it.  
  
"This is going to rely completely on luck, isn't it?" he inquired gruffly.  
  
By now, she knew him well enough to know she had already beaten him and that he simply couldn't admit to it. More importantly, she had learned just where and how hard to strike back. "I thought you didn't believe in luck," she replied, infusing her tone with irony. To her delight, he said nothing further and she shifted up once again.  
  
*******  
  
She tilted her head to watch the car speed by, only the second that had passed in the nearly four hours that they'd been here. Weakly she considered pulling herself to her feet and rushing out into the road to stop the car and plead for help, but nothing was more apparent than the fact that such an action was futile at this point. She had lost enough blood both to appear pale to her companion and to feel slightly dizzy when attempting to rise, and even if she did have the energy to go for help it was doubtful anyone would be willing to respond. They'd ask too many questions, anyway.  
  
She sighed, leaning back against the tree and thinking about whether she was ready to die. Light was fading to black and the final destination was close on the horizon so she supposed she should set to make her peace, then surprised herself at the detached calm with which she was now able to confront death. Her instincts rebelled against the imminent, of course, but what is to be must be, and with that she assured herself that she was ready. On that front she didn't really mind the change she had undergone during this experience; it made the present far easier with which to deal.  
  
She looked across to Logan, who was staring thoughtfully up into the trees, seemingly trying to come to terms as she had just done. Maybe if it had been another place, another time, if the approaching outcome had come from less intense circumstances, the empathy would have overridden the curiosity. But she had nothing to lose, and if he had cause to get angry at such a time that was his problem. A best friend had been lost and she felt she had the right to know.  
  
"Hey Logan," she called. He snapped to attention and she took a deep breath. "I know it's prolly hard, but what went down wit' you an' Max?"  
  
As always there was the anger, the familiar burning in the pit of his stomach and the tight locking of every muscle that existed in his body. Biting remarks filtered through his brain; she had no right to pry, no right to enter his private world, no right to ask him to relive only the second most painful event of his life. But then, that event had led to a painful encounter for Cindy as well, hadn't it? He tightened his eyelids and took a moment to steady himself, then decided he owed it to her and that, at this point, he hadn't anything to lose.  
  
"We ran into each other at the Space Needle," he started, pausing briefly and resolving to spare his friend the truth about Max's survival. "She...she said she had to leave because we'd all be better off that way, and I could see right through her. I knew it was bull, and I got afraid and thought that if I said just theright thing that I'd be able to make her stay. Well, we got into a fight and...I said something I probably shouldn't have said. It wasn't fair." He wanted to believe that it would be enough to stop there, but Cindy raised her eyebrows in anticipation and the action of repeating the words suddenly gained significant weight. "I...um...she called me an asshole, and...I said something along the lines of, 'you didn't think that during our celebration, or were you still in heat then.' And...and she pushed past me and then she was gone." He hung his head in shame and expected hatred, or at least anger, but for a moment he was greeted only with silence and when he looked up slightly he saw friendly concern and sympathy more than disapproval.  
  
Not that she wasn't at least slightly mad at him; he was certainly right when he'd characterized his words as being something that shouldn't have been said. She understood, though, and Max hadn't exactly been in the right, either. It also wouldn't help either of them to develop bad blood right now; what was needed was companionship, so she hid her less dignified emotions behind her handy brand-new outer shell.  
  
"Well, guess that's Max...standin' face to face wit' happiness straight up an' she'd rather be an idiot and go all lonesome." It was an attempt at making light of the situation and a fairly bad one at that, but it got him to smile anyway and they slipped into a quiet that was just a little less uneasy.  
  
*******  
  
It was beyond her how a common civilian and a supposedly crippled computer nerd could have caused so much damage. The bodies strewn across the road were riddledwith bullets, except for one which had been shot directly in the back of the head, and the trees lining the sides of the street proudly displayed the scars they'd gathered in the crossfire. Quickly suck things were pushed aside, though, left for the rightfully inferior hands of the clean-up crew, with a select few assigned to chase away the nosy passers-by who had stopped at the site and were presently idling in morbid fascination.  
  
Brin, meanwhile, moved around the van, whose crumpled hood was surrounded by a ring of smoke and whose windshield was now lying in inconsistent shards around the front of the vehicle. Against a tree there leaned the survivor, noticably trying to retain consciousness and tainted by a streak of dried blood which ran from his forehead to his chin. His eyes lit up at his superior's approach, and he went to stand straight and at attention but fell back against the tree when he was hit with a bout of nausea.  
  
"Forgive me, ma'am," he mumbled. She tilted her head, studying him, before putting on an air of understanding.  
  
"It's all right, soldier. I am well aware of your condition."  
  
He nodded in gratitude and managed a weak salute to show his respect and wish to remain faithful to duty. She smiled and shook her head at the pitiful display, then hardened again, partially out of a desire to have a little fun with him and partially to verify information. In accordance with the orders she'd received, there could be only one outcome to this confrontation, but the rush of having proved her loyalty was fresh and she was in the mood for game.  
  
"Regardless, I AM awaiting your report," she stated gruffly. He looked to her in confusion and disbelief, and without thinking, unprofessionally ran a shaky hand through his bloody, tousled hair, having freed it long ago from his helmet.  
  
"I...delivered it to the director..."  
  
"And NOW you are to deliver it to me," she barked. "Do you have a problem with this?"  
  
"N...no ma'am," he stuttered, visibly intimidated. "As I was coming around this bend, the prisoners somehow managed to free themselves and subsequently revolted. I turned briefly to assess the situation, and during those few seconds the vehicel went off the road and I was unable to maintain control. I was knocked unconscious as a result of the ensuing impact, and when I came to, everyone else was dead and the escapees were commandeering the second van. I tried to shoot them but was unable and decided instead to disable the vehicle by shooting out the tires."  
  
"And you tried as hard as was possible in consideration of all conditions present?" she asked. Obvious question, but this was all in fun.  
  
"Yes ma'am, of course," he replied with a series of lathargic nods. His eyes rolled back at that point and she almost expected him to drop, but then he shook his head and placed a hand firmly behind him against the tree to steady himself. He finally managed to stand up completely straight without feeling the urge to technicolor yawn, and, chest heaving erratically, he looked to the X-5 and pleaded non-verbally for sympathy though deep down he knew he would receive none.  
  
"Very well," Brin huffed after a rather long interlude of silence. She moved her hand to rest on the handle of her gun and his nerves tightened violently, his stomach knotting from forces beyond the physical and liquid fear traversing through his body. "Before we again depart, I have been instructed to deliver the following message." Faster than he could tell, than he could process the import of her words, the gun had been raised and aimed and the survivors became solely Logan and Original Cindy. A fresh smear travelled down between his eyes, over his nose and down onto the top of his vest, moving at the speed of his body, which slid protestfully down the tree upon which he had been leaning and left in its wake a trail of red. His killer reacted with all the emotion of a rock and replaced her gun quickly and robotically, like the machine she had moved one step closer to becoming.  
  
"The director thinks you should have tried harder," she stated coldly before turning on her heels and ordering the X-5s to again move out.  
  
*******  
  
"Gettin cold...think we should up and start a fire?" Cindy asked, shivering and wrapped her arms around her for warmth. What worried her, though, was that Logan looked perfectly comfortable in the temperature department...which meant the chill sweeping over her likely was the result of dangerous amounts of blood loss.  
  
Logan cocked his head to the side and clicked his tongue, stuffing hands into empty pockets to illustrate the point he was about to make. "Got any matches?"  
  
She smiled softly. "Good point." She thought of primitively rubbing sticks together and her smile widened, enough to infect Logan and bring the mood of the occasion another two shades lighter. This was actually rather nice; here they were on the brink of death, but perfectly content and more accepting of their fate than they had been for anything else in their lives. Logan could no longer find reason to complain about the situation, and after all that he had experienced today he was all but numb to his own insecurities and sense of of physical inferiority. The thought of Max still hurt him, but now he managed to focus on the good and what time they had been able to share together. Cindy, on the other hand, now knew more about dealing with an absence of choice than she had probably ever wanted to, and knowing that there likely was nothing that they on their own could do to prevent what was in store for them actually had begun to be more a source of comfort than anything else. Death wasn't so bad, afterall; in death there would be no more pain, no more hiding. And all they had to do was drifty away, sleep and fall into everlasting peace.  
  
She leaned back against the tree and stared blankly off beyond Logan, seeing everything but not really seeing it at all and slowly letting her eyelids fall into place. Serenity washed over her and for an instant the welcoming strains of a deep sleep began to tug at her being, but then her eyes snapped wide and sharp alertness replaced the calm. There was no fear; she was simply aware, aware with every fiber that what she had just seen was not only more than an illusion but something unnatural and threatening.  
  
"Did you see that?" she whispered, even as she knew he couldn't have since it had happened behind him.  
  
Logan lifted his shoulders and shook his head. "See what?"  
  
"Somethin' moved."  
  
His brow creased and he followed her gaze, craning his neck to peer around his tree, toward the road. It happened again; a flash, a whisper, a wind out of nowhere that didn't make any reasonable amount of sense. Familiarity triggered knowledge somewhere in the back of his overworked mind, but he couldn't quite make the connection.  
  
"They send more out to finish the job?" Cindy asked. The flatness of her tone surprised him but he ignored it.  
  
"Couldn't be...people don't move that fast," he replied. She sighed impatiently.  
  
"Well, there's SOMETHIN' there...an' look," she said, pointing further down the road, "way over where the van is. Ain't that a hummer?"  
  
He followed the gesture and nodded slowly, still trying to overcome the mental blockage that had formed. It was the feeling of wanting to use a specific word, knowing what the word means and even how it sounds but for some reason being unable to form it. "Yeah, but..." And then suddenly it clicked and he was again experiencing the crippling rush of fear; death would not come now, not without pain, and maybe not without sacrificing countless other lives and his body stiffened in barely concealed panic.  
  
Cindy immediately picked up on his change in demeanor and suddenly dying in the woods in the middle of nowhere didn't seem so wonderful. "...what?" she whispered, chemicals beginning to slowly erode the numbness. He chuckled awkwardly, nervously, adjusted his glasses to give his hands something to do and found it increasingly difficult to breathe properly.  
  
"If I didn't know any better," he began, "I'd say we were being surrounded by..."  
  
And then there were four more flashes, simultaneously, breaking out from all around and surrounding them in speed beyond motion. He watched helplessly as a blur pushed Cindy's head hard into the tree, knocking her out, and briefly neglected his body's need for oxygen when he felt the cold of a gun press to his temple.  
  
"...X-5s," he finished breathlessly, taking in from the corner of his eye the face of a young man, probably in his very early 20s.  
  
The man smirked and pressed closer, sucking in an amused breath. "Very perceptive of ya, Eyes." 


	27. Forgive and Forget

A/N: Well everyone, this is it. The final two chapters. I'm done. DONE. Such a good feeling...this is the most ambitious project I've ever actually completed, and I'm damn proud of myself right now, lol.  
  
Anyway, I know that nothing can match chapter 22. But I tried. Dammit, I tried.  
*******  
  
  
  
He found himself actually beginning to enjoy the scenery. He had always liked the woods and despite the fact that they were speeding so quickly that it had all become a blur, it struck him as being rather pretty, though he chastised himself for the thought. He should have been keeping fresh and alert but instead he was drifting off into nowhere, which is probably why Max's sudden turn off the road took him by such surprise.  
  
They bounced noisily and recklessly into the woods, narrowly missing trees and working hard to keep their balance as they struck various holes and fallen limbs. Finally, in a small clearing, she fully shifted down and skid to rest in a half circle, spraying mud and leaves off to the left. The engine purred a moment later before falling silent, and then Zack was going out of his mind with confused rage.  
  
"What the hell was that for?" he whispered harshly. "You could have crashed and gotten us killed pulling a stunt like that!"  
  
"Yeah, well, I'd rather risk that than whoever's in that hummer up ahead!" she bit back as she moved to conceal the bike in a small thicket. His forehead crinkled and over his tongue spread the bitter taste of crow.  
  
"What hummer?" he inquired incredulously.   
  
"You didn't see it?" asked she with the same amount of disbelief. He shook his head shamefully, and in response she rolled her eyes and grabbed his hand, yanking him impatiently back toward the road. She hunched over cautiously at its edge, making her way with slow, decisive movements, in position to intercept readily the unexpected, as she had been taught and as had become as automatic as instinct. He fell into step behind her, and together they crouched behind a large tree and she tilted her chin in presentation down the road toward the offending vehicle. She assumed he was nodding in verification from the way his breath rose and fell on the back of her neck.  
  
"And look," he breathed a few seconds later, "off to the side a little bit."  
  
She followed his instructions and a few feet into the woods found a van that would have looked rather innocuous had it not been riddled with bullets and stained here and there with a substance that could only be identified as blood. Her pupils consumed her eyes and there was no one in either vehicle or around them, though the inside of the van was decorated with even more spots and streaks of red. A lump formed in her throat and clarity began to fade, emotion commanding control of her body and senses. Might they have tried to escape and faced death as the penalty? Or had they made a bit of progress, and now were being hunted as little more than fresh meat in the endless, unfriendly expanse of forest? She tried to hope for the best but the best wasn't something that she had ever had the priviledge of experiencing, so such came with far greater difficulty than it should have.  
  
Still, she was with Zack and, though she'd made some progress on the front of cracking his shell, she felt the need to appear detached, collected, and, above all, strong.  
  
"I think they're in the woods," she stated simply, her voice devoid of emotion or inflection.  
  
"Yeah," he replied with the same amount of enthusiasm, "let's go."  
  
*******  
  
"494, put your weapon away."  
  
He blinked, unsure whether he'd heard her correctly. She placed her hand on her hip and glared at him, understandably irritated with this affront to the rules. He knew mission parameters, and even if he didn't, she was his superior and he therefore was required to obey whatever instruction she gave. Perhaps he felt he could go against her because of her surefire demotion on the return home...well, such a reason wasn't good enough for her. No reason was, because Manticore didn't tolerate insubordinance so it was her duty to stamp it out, as well. This was going on his report, most definitely.  
  
"In case you weren't paying close enough attention during the briefing, I'll remind you that we need him ALIVE," she said acidly. "Now I'll ask you again; put your gun away."  
  
Sudden inspiration hit Logan and the notion of sacrifice filled him; the information they would pull out of him if they kept him breathing was not worth the ability. He shook his head, afraid to speak but desperate to communicate his disagreement with the orders that had been given. Despite the will to die for the good of others that had overtaken him in the past few hours, though, a part of him certainly felt relieved when his attacked sighed in defeate and began to pull the gun away.  
  
"All right, all right," he said, right before two new blurs burst onto the scene. Briefly Logan flushed with increased anxiety, but then a male was attacking the female who had knocked out Cindy and he found himself confused instead. The mystery man moved like Zack...but Zack was dead, wasn't he? And even if he wasn't, he certainly didn't have black hair...  
  
He hadn't the opportunity to process the situation, though; 494 reacted to the ambush by knocking the recaptured prisoner unconscious for "safe keeping," then pointed his peace instinctually at his fast approaching attacker. She swiftly kicked it from his grasp, sending it into the possession of Logan's feet before swinging herself around to retain her balance and taking aim at his head. He fell back, avoiding the blow and pushing himself into position under her, hooking his foot in the crook of her knee and sending her collapsing backwards then climbing on top of her and planting his hands firmly on her elbows. There was little struggle, little effort; they were both too busy meeting each other's eyes with confusion, hers laced with heart-wrenching sorrow.  
  
"Ben?" she choked meakly.  
  
"453?" he asked in the same instant. The hair was a different color, but damn...  
  
She shook her head, the sadness fading as realization dawned. This was no time to fall prey to sentiment, anyway.  
  
"452," she mumbled in reply.  
  
"Never knew a Ben," he returned with a click of his tongue. She pushed the painful resemblance to the background then and her knee came up and made contact with his chest, flipping him over her head when he refused to relinquish his hold on her arms. She sprang to her feet and turned to finish him off, confident and flush with the familiar thrill of fighting. He came at her furious, legs and feet flying almost faster than she could hope to keep up, her nose and her lip releasing fluid in protest and bruises forming quickly on her thighs and upper arms. She managed to keepr her own and hold him off for a minute or so, but then a shot rang out and there was cold and she searched frantically for Zack, relief coursing through her upon discovering that it was he who held the gun and that he had shot an unknown female. Another was coming up behind him, though, and Max opened her mouth to shout a warning but then 494's foot was thrust into her stomach and she stumbled backward into Brin's waiting arms.  
  
"Repeat of the roof, little sister," she whispered menacingly, employing a strong chokehold that Max struggled futilely to break. 494 smiled cockily and bounced on the balls of his feet with all the excitement of a champion prize fighter, hands tightening in anticipation. She tried to slip her legs back to trip her captor, tried to turn, anything to avoid the defeat that was surely on its way, what with the boy rushing forcefully toward her, likely without regard for Brin. And the sky was red and black now, the air slipping in and out with hardly the room of a pinprick and the heart that wasn't hers pulsing with desperation and banging against her ribcage, the reverberations filling everything. She thought of Logan, and Original Cindy, who lay unconscious a few steps away...bastards couldn't just take the man she loved, they had to take the only human woman for whom she'd risk her life as well. She thought of how it was her fault, being stupid again and denying them and how even now she was going to fail them. She thought of her dream...and then she thought of the eyes burning through her at present, so like those of her dearly departed brother and yet so different, and of what she could make out beyond the haze in their reflection. There was she, turning red from the poor circulation in Brin's tightly wrapped arms, and then behind them both there was a large tree, maybe seven feet back. It was a long shot, but she couldn't fail them again...never again.  
  
The last energy she thought she'd ever have propelled her backwards, slamming Brin hard into the tree and filling 494's face with an unexpected mix of surprise and awe. She ignored him for the moment, though, and focused on finally freeing herself from the hold, then elbowing her elder sharply in the neck. Brin fell off to the side, shaking herself to regain orientation, and Max ran up the tree to flip over a still-approaching would-be killer who slammed face first into the bark when max deftly kicked him between the shoulder blades.  
  
Zack, meanwhile, seemed to be having quite a bit of difficulty holding off the gril with whom he was presently fighting, and now they stood smashed together, the gun with which he'd shot the other high above them and jointly held. She found the trigger and quickly wasted the round before Zack could get a leg up and knee her in the stomach. She recovered quickly, though, using her body's reaction to the blow as an advantage; she fell onto her hands and lifted her body over her head, capturing Zack's neck between her ankles, locking into position and he had only time to assess the fact that his neck was likely about to be snapped, that this was it, that he didn't deserve his position...and then he was free and he couldn't comprehend how that could be, and he looked down and there was Max, having swept the girl's arms out from under her. He could tell that the following action was unwanted, considered needless, but Max came through despite feelings of some kind of morality because otherwise they might very well be as good as dead, and she bent over the girl and snapped her neck as effortlessly as she had with Ben. Above there was a grunt of exertion and Zack exchanged movements with 494, the whoosh of unnaturally quick limbs and the light pounding of knuckles and knees and feet on flesh and bone filling the air around her as she looked upon her kill and to Logan, who lay motionless nearby but whose eyes fluttered as he attempted and began to awaken. It frightned her sometimes, how into it she seemed to get, how in the midst it often became somewhat difficult to convince herself that she was more than just a soldier and a fighter. The dream she'd had came to her again and she wanted to cry from the guilt...the guilt of choosing wrong, the guilt of pushing both him and Cindy away, the guilt of having just taken a life and of being who she was. She shouldn't let down her guard and she knew it but sometimes it was so damn hard she didn't know why she kept on.  
  
"Max!" Zack suddenly yelled in apparent warning. She looked up and saw him still in combat with 494, but it was too late for her to see Brin before she was kicked in the head and trying to figure out what had just happened. She pushed herself onto her knees and shook her head, spitting out the blood that had collected in her mouth, and then she was in that infamous chokehold again, only this time Brin was kneeling on Max's calves to keep her in place and securing a gun to the younger girl's temple.  
  
"Shit," Zack grumbled. Love and desperation sparked haste and he backhanded 494 then dropped his leg on the man's back, bringing him to the ground. He kneeled over him, knees on arms and feet spreading legs enough to render them useless, one hand in the back of the neck and the other gripping hair and pulling the head upward in painful opposition to the immobile throat. Brin's eyes widened at the turn of events and Zack grinned sadistically.  
  
"Put the gun down, or he dies," Zack ordered, pulling 494's head back a little further to demonstrate the seriousness of his claim. Part of him rebelled with disgust at the thought; after all, this was obviously a twin of Ben both from outward appearances and from the nature of the barcode which he had just read. But common sense told him rightfully that it WASN'T Ben, and that even if it was, Ben had gone psycho and needed to be executed for the good of himself, the rogues, and the general public, so therefore it was okay. It needed to be done, plain and simple.  
  
Brin hesitated a moment, those old feelings of sibling and human sympathy bubbling through her. She didn't want him to die; partially of course because then she'd have to explain to Renfro the deaths of all three of her charges, and she wasn't exactly up for an extension of the punishment she surely already faced. Moreso, though, she couldn't stand to see killed someone who looked like Ben, even if it truly wasn't Ben, and she couldn't stand it simply because he was a living entity and some part of her recognized murder as being ethically wrong. It passed quickly, though, as any feelings of moral responsibility faded, faded as they had done before she'd shot the poor soldier with the severe concussion, before she'd turned in Lydecker, before she'd come on this mission. She tightened her grip on Max and the most important thing was ridding the world of these stupid, dangerous traitors.  
  
"Go ahead," she challenged. "He doesn't matter. All that matters is getting Eyes Only back to Manticore." She ignored the pleading in 494's eyes, the same pleading that Zack found washing over Max's face. His ability to stay calm was slipping away, justifiably. The options were thin, and... He fixed his eyes beyond Brin, speed painstaking but he picked up on what was going on and he filled with hope, smiling brightly with renewed confidence and drawing disbelief from both girls.  
  
"You're bluffing," he said bravely. "You'd be the only survivor if you let him die. It would all be on your shoulders, it would all be your fault. You know the penalty for that kind of operational mishandling as well as I do and I don't think you wanna have to face it."  
  
Brin cringed at how close that had gotten to the truth but remained composed. Vaguely it registered that he must be stalling for some reason, and that she should stop wasting time and finish the job. But it didn't seem right. Something felt wrong and for the moment she could only hold a gasping and deathly frightened Max in wait for some abstract sign that now was the time. "I'm already facing reprimand for failing to keep 452 in line," she said after a short pause, resolving to avoid using the names they'd created for each other. "What do I have to lose?"  
  
In that instant, 494 saw what Zack had seen and the beginnings of a warning slipped past his lips before Zack slammed his head hard into the ground. Max met her brother's gaze, flailing and once again positive that this was the end, confused and unable to understand his silent message, the assurance in his eyes and the sense of loss that was rapidly filling those of 494. Brin couldn't ignore any longer how she felt and how off this all seemed, and she turned to follow the gaze of her fellow X-5s only seconds before the bullet erupted from the gun and everything fell silent and solemn and yet another dead body fell heavily into limpness. Max's heart stopped, forgot its duty, her eyes falling shut...and then there was air, and her lungs expanded and she shifted in confusion under Brin's dead body, which slumped haphazardly over her back. She looked again to Zackand he fell away in relief from the now dead X5-494, whose neck had been snapped, and pushed the uncomfortable weight off of her, trying to make sense of what had just happened and finding only the opposite. That is, until she turned slowly around to face the man who really was her savior; it occurred tha she shouldn't ever have doubted that fact. He sat leaning on his elbow, the gun still raised with shaking arms, his glasses lopsided and his eyes and face heavy with the effects of recently regained consciousness. Her chest heaved and tears at last broke free, of relief and remorse and everything.  
  
He gratefully accepted her hug, confused as to why she had dyed her hair and gotten colored contacts but considering such things to be unimportant. There were no words between them; there didn't need to be, all the emotion was drifting in open spaces and consuming them and driving their embrace to one that could cause some very real damage to his fragile norm body, but he didn't care. He had her again, she had come back to save him for whatever reason and maybe if she could learn to forgive him, he could learn to forgive himself. And she thought of the unshatterable glass and swelled with the knowledge of somehow having shattered it, gripping him with the fervor of one who wishes to meld completely with another and thought that since he had forgive her, someday, however far that might be, she could wake with the happiness of having finally forgiven herself. 


	28. Bittersweet Symphony

"How ya feelin', girl?"  
  
"Been better." She shifted awkwardly and clenched her eyes tightly shut as a jolt of pain spread from her shoulder down through every existing nerve in her body, equalled only by that which overtook her when she attempted to hobble off anywhere and too much pressure was placed on her injured tendon. Max took action by pressing the cold compress she held to her best friend's shoulder and pushing her back into bed, imploring that she stay put.  
  
"You just had a bullet removed. Rest up, why dontcha."  
  
Original Cindy chuckled. "Aiight, aiight. But you promise Original Cindy she gonna get some pain pills from that Dr. Carr guy."  
  
"I promise," Max said with a smile. Her face fell soon after, though, and she leaned down to give her wounded friend a soft, tender hug. "I'm sorry."  
  
Cindy sighed and patted the girl on the back with her good arm; they had been through this countless times in the past three days, and she couldn't help feeling annoyed at Max's persistent and increasingly redundant apologies despite the fact that she perfectly understood the need. The girl was back, though, and she'd saved their lives and she was forgiven, and she had to get over it already. "I know, boo...we been through this."  
  
"I'm still sorry, though." She backed slowly out of the embrace, surprised as usual with the new hardness she found in Cindy's usually warm and laughing eyes. She had been wanting to ask for some more specifics when it came to what had happened out there on the way to Manticore, partly because of that visible change, and now seemed suddenly like the perfect opportunity. Zack had other ideas, though.  
  
"Knock knock," he called as he appeared in the doorframe. Max, sensing that this was important, tucked a few stray locks behind Cindy's ear and then followed her brother somberly into the main part of the apartment, leaning on her Ninja as she prepared for the speech she had learned to expect.  
  
"I can't stay, Maxie," he started, as usual. She looked down and drew idle, imaginary patterns on the hardwood with her toe.  
  
"Surprise surprise."  
  
He sighed and shook his head; she was never going to get it. Here he had been, learning slowly to understand her side through this entire experience, but it seemed she never made any sort of effort to see where he was coming from. Well, so be it. He wasn't here to beg her to come along this time, she had managed to mess him up too much and now emotions were flowing freely and they told him that she had to stay. This was where she belonged, as much as he hated to admit it. And he cared about her, about all of them, not just because he had to but because he genuinely loved them, as much as he hated to admit it. And maybe tha wasn't such a bad thing afterall.  
  
"This isn't my place. I don't belong here," he explained plainly.  
  
It was funny how tender emotions could lead to anger and aggravation, but they did and she didn't bother to check herself. "Oh, but you belong running all over the place being miserable? Haven't you learned anything?"  
  
"I've learned plenty!" he retorted automatically in defense, then relaxed and clicked his tongue in amusement. "Ya know...you're just the same old Max."  
  
"Yeah, well I guess you're just the same old Zack," she replied sadly, her eyes falling back to the floor. Something about the way she said it struck a chord within him and he hugged her, impulsively, letting himself enjoy the comfort it brought for one unguarded moment. He then pulled away abruptly, hurt by the soft pleading in her eyes but knowing that this was for the best and that a part of her knew it, too.  
  
"I'll be in touch," he said before walking from the room, exiting her life for the umpteenth time.  
  
*******  
  
Everything that could be moved to Max and Cindy's apartment had been moved there, the rest sold or left to rot in his old place. He still couldn't believe that he was going to be living WITH her, waking to her and saying goodnight to her and sleeping only a room away instead of three sectors. Of course it was only temporary; considering that Manticore now had intelligence on him, it would not be smart for he and Max to be that close together for any longer than a brief interlude and Blind was already looking to find his employer a new place. But the fact that it would happen at all drove him wild with excitement, even as things between them were slightly awkward and strange at the moment. Another benefit of living together was that they'd have more than enough time to talk; they had to if they expected to survive such close proximity.  
  
Things of course were definitely not as good as they could or should be, though, and as he looked over the penthouse one last time he was swept with all-too familiar sorrow and anger and helplessness. He had lost that which gave him the ability to walk; he had lost his home and his luxury; but worst of all he had lost Eyes Only. Until the destruction of Manticore, there could be no more broadcasts, and that meant the operation was likely over with for good. As much as any of them wanted to think it was possible, they'd probably never succeed in fully taking down such a place; they could only hope to wait and be forgotten, and the odds of that happening weren't exactly in their favor, either. Somehow they'd have to learn to live around it. And it was hard, and it hurt, but he was damn sure willing to try after all that had happened the past few weeks.  
  
"Hey," a soft, slightly uncertain voice came from behind. A hand came to rest on his shoulder and he remembered envisioning a similar scenario, back when it seemed like all hope was lost. "You ready to go?"  
  
He looked up into her face and wished that there was an easier way to go back before the awful words had been said, a way to avoid all the talking and mutual soul-searching and heartache, but at least they had the opportunity to through all of it and that was what mattered. He managed a smile and took her hand in his.  
  
"Yeah...c'mon."  
  
*******  
  
----Two weeks later----  
"Why the hell are you still getting mail?" Max demanded as she dropped the envelope on Logan's legs.  
  
"It goes through a lot of people before it gets to me," he assured her as he began to open the package. "Don't worry."  
  
"Logan," she chastised with a heavy sigh, "you know it doesn't matter how many people it's gotta go through. It's still dangerous as all hell."  
  
"Fine, fine," he said as he took her hand and pulled her down to him. "I'll stop it. I'll change the forwarding address to something random that I think of off the top of my head and screw the whole mail thing, okay?"  
  
She smirked and pretended to think very deeply over the matter, putting on an air of dissatisfaction. "Guess it'll have to do."  
  
"It better," he retorted playfully before kissing her lightly. She smiled and shook her head and moved away to fiddle with something on the stove, probably hot water for a bath; he had been reading before his man came with the envelope and hadn't really been paying attention. He opened without haste, thinking it was likely some case information that he wasn't going to be able to use now that Eyes Only was through. When he removed its contents, though, he couldn't control the disgusted tremors which swept through his body and with paralyzing fear he gasped Max's name.  
  
His tone was understandably frightening to her, and she rushed to his side, reaching down to set the brakes on his chair before encircling him in an embrace of comfort from behind. When she saw the picture in his hands, though, she needed some comforting of her own; there lay Lydecker, dressed in the uniform of a norm Manticore soldier, apparently stolen from on M. Anderson. One arm was crumpled around his head, the other flung over his chest, his legs tangled up in each other. And only half of his face was intact, the other mutilated beyond recognition from the force of the bullet that should have passed straight through but caught and caused a partial implosion instead.  
  
"Logan..." she whimpered, pressing her face hard against the side of his. He reached up to massage the back of her neck, to soothe away her fear though he didn't have the strength to quell his own. And together they silently read the note that came attached, wishing that it didn't have to be true but knowing sorrowfully that it was, that like Tinga they seemed doomed only to have the happily ever now that once was.  
  
'~YOU CAN'T RUN FOREVER.~'  
*******  
  
Post.Script: Hate me all ya want, but did you really expect ME to deliver a cut and dried happy ending? Okay, fine, I wrote some nice fluffy smut but that story's a total anomalie. I had to leave this open. I had to end it like it would have ended in season one. So...yeah. Sequel? Maybe. But then, I killed everyone...so it might be kinda hard...  
  
I love you guys! Thank you for allowing yourself to be subjected to my insanity! Hehe. 


End file.
